The Lilac Tree
by lena1987
Summary: Complete. In post-war England, Severus Snape has one responsibility left: the shell of a woman in St. Mungo's. Who is she, and why does he visit every day? AU. HG/SS. Marriage Law.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer:**_ _I own nothing._

 _ **A/N:**_ _The following is an AU story; it retains most of the events in canon, though as it is a distant relation of the Marriage Law genre, it does move away from it at some points. Enjoy._

* * *

 **The Lilac Tree**

 **Chapter 1**

We made plans to kiss the sun at night

Hopeless dreamers, hopeless types

One was turning, one was standing still

I won't forget what was promised here.

 _Birds of Tokyo_

* * *

 **Two years, eleven months and thirteen days**

The rain fell steadily onto the roof, the splattering sounds echoing through the ward as though the roof was tin and not old slate. In a way, it was like Spinner's End, right down to the fluorescent lights. Strange, really; a Magical hospital adorned with Muggle lighting. The nurses always said that candles could never get the rooms as bright as they needed to be.

Severus Snape often wished that there hadn't been a member of the staff at some point in time that'd realised such an irritating fact. It made the shadows under his eyes look more pronounced, and the witch on duty at the Healer's station always smiled in that heavy, pitying way - the way where the lower lip is pressed down so it purses and groans under the weight of emotions that someone other himself (and perhaps the woman in the room across the hall) had no right to feel.

He strode down the hallway, dragon hide boots making no sound against the constant thudding of the rain. Sans robes, he barely seemed to make an impression on the whitewashed walls but he took comfort in the stern, buttoned frock coat. It wouldn't do to billow his way down the corridors here at St. Mungo's when one never really knew what reaction a patient could have considering he had taught many of them. Thus, the coat stayed and the robes were a shrunken piece of black wool in the right pocket of his trousers.

"Good morning, Professor," Healer Brown said with her customary grimace when he stopped at the station. Bar the two days that Ms. Brown had off each week, they'd repeated the exact same words for nigh on three years, give or take a few unpleasantries. The only main difference was when she was Miss Brown, then Mrs Weasley, then Ms. Brown again. He could hardly keep track, but far be it from Snape to care much about the revolving door that was her last name when his own title had caused her so much grief. She'd stuck with Professor, in the end, not that he was hers anymore.

"Ms. Brown." He tipped his head. "How...?"

The Janus Thickney ward always seemed to rob him of speech.

"Oh she's fine," Lavender (it was easier to name the blonde by her first name in his mind; it wasn't often that someone named after flora brought bad news after all) said with a small smile that more genuine now, the way it often was when she spoke of her patient. "No changes over night. All of her vitals are consistent with what we expect for her, and she's all set to participate in the upcoming trial."

"Ah. Longbottom's, I presume?"

"The very same. You must have heard a bit about it, although Neville's always been the private type when his parents are involved, so perhaps not. It's due to start in a week, providing there's no change in her status between now and then."

"Of course." He had, in fact, been consulted on the Potions side of things, but he wasn't particularly willing to speak about that. Lavender was a hopeful, optimistic witch; he found that rather painful at times. Truth be told, Neville Longbottom's research had left him privately hopeful. He'd never admit it, because if it failed as so many others had (including some of his own), it would just be another notch in the board of things that had gone wrong.

"Now," Lavender stood from where she had been sitting behind the desk, tapping away at something that looked like a Muggle computer but upon closer inspection was more like a box with holographic images inside. Straightening her lilac robes (each Healer wore the colour that calmed the patient the most - Severus had been surprised that lilac worked best, but then again, what did he really know anyway?) she pushed a clipboard across the chest height wall surrounding the station. "New forms to sign this week," she said softly, her lower lip shaking for just a second before it was drawn resolutely underneath her two front teeth.

"And these are?" He already suspected, but it didn't hurt to bring another into his misery.

"We're coming up to three years, sir. It's simply a renewal of, well, everything really. Just crossing the T's and dotting the I's to say that you're still the primary contact, still the one to sign off on changes to her care or any major trials to be participated in, new medicines and such. The costs are still taken care of by the Ministry due to the…" Here, she cleared her throat then continued on, "…due to the circumstances of the reasons for hospitalisation. Just the same as last year, although the form for the Longbottom trial is at the… bottom." She shrugged when his lip twitched with amusement.

"I'll sign these inside," Severus replied, tucking the clipboard under his arm. "Her mood?"

"Ah," Lavender looked past his shoulder to the door to the room. "I should think it'll be somewhat normal at first, she's been rather chipper this morning. Those teas her mother sent over with you last week have worked a bit of magic – pardon the pun – and she's looking forward to your visit."

" _My_ visit?"

"Well, all of her visitors. You're included, sir," Lavender said firmly. "No matter what anyone else says. You are, and she knows it."

"Right." He rolled his shoulders and nodded. "Thank you, Ms. Brown."

Without another word, Severus crossed the hall and stood in front of the white door with a lilac handle. The shutters on the windows of either side were closed, though he knew that they would've been open until the moment he began to walk towards them. He rested his forehead on the door, breathing in and listening for any noises coming from inside. Upon hearing nothing, he drew in a deep breath and turned the handle.

…

"Oh! Good morning, Professor Snape!" Hermione was sitting at her white provincial style desk (he'd brought it in as soon as she had begun to emerge from the induced coma following the final Battle) in front of the window. There were books stacked on it for research – he picked out ones each week that suited whatever she claimed to have an interest in at the time. The rest of the room was like Lavender described – 'chipper' – with sunlight streaming in over the bed in the middle of the room with a plump lilac quilt, white bedside tables and bunches of yellow carnations in plastic vases on each table. There was a fireplace, though it was not connected to the Floo network. It was as homely as possible, for the woman who had no home at all.

She stood and tugged nervously on the end of her braid, and then pulled down the hem of her green Weasley jumper. It swamped her – she was too thin, and it came down to her denim covered thighs – though Severus snorted an inappropriate laugh when he saw that the front was embroidered with a serpent and bookcase. Bloody Molly.

"How are you this morning, Miss Granger?" he asked, setting the clipboard down on the small two-person couch beside the bed. He fumbled in his pockets then produced a Muggle biro.

"Oh, good, good, of course. Very good this morning, sir," she said eagerly, nodding her head up and down. "I've actually already had a visit from Mum. She brought me this tea, you see?" Hermione waved him over, and he smiled and advanced to the other side of the room. She held a steaming cup under his nose; he sniffed, and took the time to look at her. Still lovely, though the environment made it hard; her eyes were as beautiful as ever, and her hair was frizzier thanks to the humidity in the room from the rain. He always liked it when it ran wild like it was alive; it suited her. There were deep shadows under her eyes.

"It smells delightful," he said. "Can you tell me the ingredients?"

"Roses and hibiscus, sir!"

"As I thought. And how is your mother today? I've not had the chance to speak with her since last week."

Helen was in Australia. Severus resisted the urge to scowl; the woman was as driven as her daughter had once been. He'd had to open the Floo in his quarters at Hogwarts to allow her access, and then of course establish a connection in her own home. The red tape had been a nightmare, though let it not be said that he did not work night and day to make sure that the woman was always informed of every one of his visits to Hermione. He had spoken to her only the evening before, not that he planned to reveal the details of those conversations to the young witch in front of him, because Helen had last been able to visit a month before and their recent argument on that very subject was not suitable for fragile ears.

Hermione's face fell. Immediately he took the cup and set it down on the desk, and then took her elbow to guide her into the chair and knelt in front of her.

"I don't know, sir," she said in a small voice. "I was so sure that I saw her… she told me you'd be coming, see… and here you are, but I can't remember what she said at all. I'm sure that she did come, though… I'm sure that I told her of the latest research you have me doing. She was ever so proud when I told her of my apprenticeship. I'm going to have my certificate soon, aren't I? Oh but I can't…I have to finish my seventh year first, sir. I know how much you need my help, though." Her eyes darted over the features of his face. "You look well, sir. Much better than when I saw you last. Gosh, you looked like a stick insect! To think that it was only yesterday. I can't believe the Headmaster was killed only yesterday. Oh – I shouldn't mention it, should I? It's a bit of a funny subject with you, isn't it? Fair enough. We're in hiding, aren't we? Did you save me from the Death Eaters that came to the castle? How very brave of you. Thank you."

"It's all right, Miss Granger," he soothed her, ignoring the blinding white pain that twisted in his stomach on bad mornings such as these.

"Yes, of course it is!" Hermione said, suddenly smiling again and throwing him off guard. "Oh! What a surprise - Professor Snape! How lovely to see you. I've been doing research for you, you know."

"Good morning, Miss Granger," Severus repeated. She didn't notice the duller tone in his voice. Before she could continue, he bid her to stand and steered her over to the couch. When she was seated, he took a stack of shrunken books out of his pockets and enlarged them with a flick of his wrist. "For you."

"Oh! How positively wonderful! What am I researching this week, sir?"

"I'm glad you asked. It's a very complicated subject." He drank in the sight of her nodding eagerly, the light in her eyes a faint hint of what it used to be but subtly there all the same. "Do you have the time to go through it all first?"

"Yes, yes! I always have time for you, sir. It's such an honour. Do go on."

He spent a good thirty minutes talking her through the theme for this week: studying medieval texts in foreign languages. It was a genuine part of training for a prospective apprentice, though Hermione wasn't his apprentice at all. She never had been. But she was enthusiastic and had already begun sounding out the Arabic vowels. He knew from experience that she would have the entire alphabet memorised in a day.

When she was settled with the texts and practice examination questions (he'd drawn them up in the few minutes before he left the castle this morning), Severus began to fill out the forms.

"Marking, sir?"

"Yes." He drew out the word. "Third years."

"My condolences, Professor," she said cheekily. "May I see?"

He covered the page with his arm. "Miss Granger, it would be an insult to your intellect to waste it on such mediocre things. Do continue with your research."

"Right you are, sir."

Each morning was spent waiting for a particular moment. It was one of the main reasons why he visited every day without fail unless he was kept away. Sometimes it came right at the beginning of the hour, other times at the middle. The hardest was when it came at the end; for a lifetime of spying, Severus still found it difficult to keep the positivity going. A pessimist by nature (and nurture), he was probably the worst person for this job. He cursed inwardly when he remembered it was Thursday, and so there would be another visitor soon after him.

All of a sudden, a soft intake of breath alerted him to Hermione's change of state. His head snapped up and he discarded the clipboard, moving again to kneel in front of where she was now half folded over herself. The tears were already falling onto her knees.

"Hermione," he said gently, wincing as he raised a tentative hand and cupped her cheek. She flinched. "I apologise." He removed his hand.

She hiccoughed and sniffed before she said, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Prof- _Severus_ … oh god, I've ruined it all haven't I…"

"No, no, sweetheart, you haven't ruined anything. It'll be all right." He sighed when her eyes looked bright again; it felt like he lived for this snippet of awareness. "There's another trial in a week. One more week, and we'll have some new medicine to try. It'll be all right."

"You always call me sweetheart," she said shyly. "And we haven't even… We've never…"

"It doesn't matter. I'll always take care of you, Hermione. _Trust_ that I will at least do that."

"I don't _want_ you to!" she cried. "This whole thing – we didn't have a choice in the first place, and now you're stuck with me! Leave me here, Severus. Go and live your _life_!"

"I had a choice. I was asked and I agreed. Do you think I could ever live with myself if I left you here? I couldn't!"

"How long has it been?" she whispered, reaching out to take his hands. "God, all I remember is _her_ wand!"

"She's gone," he said firmly, running his thumbs over her knuckles, willing her to believe him. "Molly got her. She'll never hurt you again."

"I live here, remember." She gestured to the rest of the room with her chin. "No one can hurt me. No one can even get _in_ if they're not supposed to. My own little cell."

He squeezed her hands. "It's to-"

"To keep me safe. I know. How long has it been?"

"Three years." Severus' voice sounded strangely light, to his ears. He often wondered how he even managed to keep it all up. This was something that was not his fault (despite the first alcohol fueled rages early on, he recognised that it was not his wand that had turned Hermione into a shell of the woman she had been) and there was no one that didn't expect him to stop his daily visits, but still he returned again and again.

She gave a tiny wail. "Three years! Oh god I've wasted three years. Severus, I had plans! You had plans! I know we didn't really make any together but _ohgodohgodohgod_ three years down the drain, gone, gone-"

"I had no plans, Hermione – you of all people should know that. I _will_ take care of you, however long it takes," he said flatly. "Enough now."

"Just tell me one thing," she demanded. He wished that the 'one thing' had changed, but it never did. "Is Voldemort dead?"

"He is."

"And… and… who…?"

And so the litany of the dead began. There was no escaping it. Hermione asked every visitor she had. It didn't make it any easier.

When her cries subsided and he'd cleaned her face with a damp cloth, she bent forward to rest her cheek against his heart. He was still at first; touch was uncommon to them, but her upper body was warm and he was always so damn cold. _She'd do this with whoever was here. It doesn't matter that it's me._ Slowly, Severus let his arms encircle her until she was fastened within his hesitant hold. His index fingers traced short lines down her spine. Ten solid minutes passed; it was enough to make him ponder just what he was missing by Fate ripping her away from him before they could have even begun. That thought was quickly banished – it served no purpose other than to sadden. He focused on the uncomfortable feeling of kneeling on the hard floor instead.

He knew the moment her comprehension ended. She went from soft and pliant, sniffling and quiet, to rigid. In an instant, she pushed herself back to an arm's length distance. "What are you _doing_?" she hissed, curling her lip. "I appreciate your concern, _Professor,_ but I do not require a nursemaid! There is no need to _coddle_ me like a first year, like there's something wrong with me. Well, there isn't! If I wanted a _cuddle_ I'd go and find Ron – for all of his faults, at least he's spoken more than two kind words to me! You haven't had anything nice to say to me since I came to Hogwarts. Kindly keep your hands to yourself."

It was his hint to leave. "Of course, Miss Granger. Forgive me."

He took the clipboard on the way out and dodged the book that flew and hit the wall beside the door.

…

"She did well," he remarked to Lavender as he stopped at the station on his way out. "Twelve minutes of comprehension."

The fair headed Healer smiled widely and bent to record his observation. "It was ten yesterday, nine last week. And at least three times a day for the last fortnight. It's very slow going, but there is a marked improvement from when she first came in."

"Anything would be an improvement to _that,_ " he said dryly, arching an eyebrow. Lavender shrugged.

"This is a ward for permanent residents, Professor. I'd say that having moments of comprehension after being catatonic initially is a drastic change. It's not something that's normal for around here."

Chastened, he bowed his head. "I know, Ms. Brown. I do realise that."

Lavender sucked in a breath and patted his arm, ignoring his affronted scowl. "If anyone realised it at all, it'd be you, sir. Don't mind me. You're the only one who comes for her daily – still, after all this time – and I know it's bound to take its toll. She does appreciate it, you know."

He gave a noncommittal hum, and then frowned at the large group of red haired visitors that had just entered the main doors of the ward. Their subdued voices would become detectable soon, and he did not wish to ruin his day any further by hearing their comments at his presence.

"My cue," he muttered, waving away Lavender's concerned expression.

"Oh, don't pay them any attention, sir. You, out of all people, have the right to be here. Don't listen to anything those idiots say. Molly understands; the rest can just sod off!"

"Touchy, Ms. Brown?" he drawled, and she rolled her eyes.

"Only the justifiable kind! I was married under that ridiculous Law too, remember?" She brandished her bare left hand and tilted her head towards the youngest boy who was already sending a disgusted look their way. "I got out at least. But when one of the trials is successful, and it will be, you and Hermione can sit down and work it all out. Bugger what anyone else has to say. You're in it together, after all."

"Indeed." Severus turned on his heel and walked in the opposite direction of the approaching group of Weasleys, aiming to be as far away as possible before the inevitable happened. As usual, he wasn't quite fast enough and the words of the always eager-to-speak young man reached his ears despite his efforts.

"I don't even understand why that _git_ even comes here! He's got no right to leach all over her like he does! It's disgusting."

"Oh shut up Ron," his older brother, Percy – having gained some balls and mental faculties since the war – hissed. "She's his _wife_! He's got more of a right to her than _you_. And _he_ visits _every day._ Give it a rest."

Severus quickened his pace and pushed through the doors, not wanting to hear any more.


	2. Chapter 2

_Onwards we go in our little alternate universe…_

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

I like the way you're wearing your smile

And you close your eyes

And you leave us for a while.

 _The Waifs_

 _…_

 **Two years, eleven months and fifteen days**

"Good morning, Professor! Isn't it a lovely day outside?"

"Morning, Miss Granger. It's rather glorious."

"You're so positive when you visit me, sir. I wish you'd show this side of you to the rest of the students. They'd love to see it. It's a real treat."

"Yes… I'm sure that they would adore it. But I don't think that I will."

"Oh. That's a pity, sir. You know, perhaps it's for the best. You can't really control students who are working with volatile ingredients when they're all batting their lashes at you now can you?"

"Ah… no. Why would they be batting their lashes, Miss Granger?"

"Well, you're quite handsome, you see. Don't scowl, it's true. You're striking. Not conventionally attractive, but certainly arresting. You'd wreak havoc on the seventh years if you showed them you were charming, too."

"I am most definitely _not_ charming."

"True, true. That was the wrong word to use. Hmm… witty? Yes. You're quite witty. Arresting and witty – an interesting combination."

"Miss Granger - are you quite all right?"

"Oh – good morning, Professor! Sorry. I don't have time for another extra study session with you today, though I am very appreciative of your efforts in helping me with the private tutoring. Could we perhaps reschedule? I have this pressing assignment, you see – I need to work on translating these medieval texts. My Potions professor thought it would be a good idea. So I'll need to give the extra DADA revision a miss for the day."

"Of course. Do you mind if I work here while you do your research? I have some marking to complete."

"It's much the same to me if you stay or go."

"All right… I shall be here on the couch if you require assistance."

"I assure you, I am quite capable. You do not need to coddle me. Why are you here again? Isn't this inappropriate, a teacher in a student's private room?"

"Quite."

"Then aren't you going to leave?"

"In a moment."

…

"Oh god, Severus…" The book fell from her hands and hit the floor with a heavy thud.

He winced at the tears already beginning to form and sat down beside her on the end of the bed. Would this never end? After everything she had done, would Hermione never be granted a reprieve? As he watched her come to terms with her state, it almost felt like his heart was breaking over and over again. But that would require him to admit that he cared for his wife more than had ever been appropriate. There truly was nothing between them, except the piece of paper with two rushed signatures that had bound them in marriage as a bid to circumvent the Ministry.

The law had been pushed through as soon as the Dark Lord had begun to worm his way into the Wizarding government, in an effort to control the Muggleborn population. It had been not long after Albus had put on that godsforsaken ring; one of the old wizard's arguments was that at least if, by some twist of fate, Severus did end up surviving the war, he would hopefully be dealt with easier given the effort he had made to save Hermione from the clutches of other Death Eaters who would have had her if he hadn't. Dumbledore had already been showing signs of losing his mind, though it did not make him less persistent.

He had claimed impotence long ago and so there was never any expectation of sexual activities – no consummation was required (such acts had been repealed after the first War, though no doubt the fine print would have been adjusted if Riddle had not been defeated). There was never any other man for her in the end; for the woman that was the brains behind Harry Potter, only Severus could provide the cover that she was being adequately controlled. His skills in Occlumency made such things fairly simple to construct, and she had been given private quarters in Gryffindor tower, accessed by a magical door that Dumbledore installed just inside Severus' office so it appeared that they shared a chamber.

They had barely had any more of a relationship than what was already there, which was largely nothing. There had been times that she had greeted him on her way to her rooms when he was marking in his office, and every now and again he escorted her to the library for appearances sake, but it was easy enough for them both to look as if they despised each other and did not wish to keep contact.

Severus truly believed that she did despise him, especially after he carried out Dumbledore's final instruction and snuffed out the life of the old wizard. He didn't know why it was that she didn't now… even in her most deranged moments, she seemed to understand that he had been required to kill the Headmaster. That gave him hope; he had recounted the story while she was in her long, still sleep in the early days. It was a miracle that she had heard him, but there was no other explanation.

Her 'marriage' to Severus did not save her; it was never designed to. Dumbledore himself was aware that the Law might provide only a small sliver of protection if Riddle managed to win the war, but it was enough for Severus to agree to yet another demand from the head of the Order. As it was, he didn't really bother to object – there was nothing that he had to do other than create a few false memories, and once Dumbledore was dead and Hermione was on the run with the rest of the Trio, all that he'd had to do was live his life of hell as he would've done anyway. For a spy, it was the easiest trick he had ever played.

Hermione's torture in Malfoy Manor was the tipping point – Potter himself had spoken with Severus in the months after the battle when everyone had found the time to visit every second day or so. The boy had mentioned how her hands would shake at Shell Cottage, how Bill would tilt his head and watch with narrow, examining eyes when she began to stare off unseeingly for minutes at a time. But there hadn't been time to look at it further; it had been too dangerous to take her to any specialist Healers, and so they listened when she insisted that she was fine.

It was easy to pretend when she called Harry 'Sirius' one morning that she was simply bleary eyed from waking.

Bellatrix Lestrange's last parting gift to the Light before Molly Weasley ended her once and for all was to corner Hermione while she was fighting beside Ron Weasley in one of the corridors of Hogwarts. The bout of _crucio_ had lasted until reinforcements arrived; the woman that had awakened in the hospital weeks later was forever changed. The anger Severus felt when he remembered those early days of sitting beside her quiet, unmoving form was still fresh over two years later. He himself had barely been harmed; he'd ignored the request to go to the Shack, and had fought furiously against his former 'brothers'. It was bittersweet that when he had emerged almost unscathed to witness their triumph, he had found his wife minutes later lying still with her limbs bent unnaturally and her eyes glazed over.

He looked at Hermione now on the bed beside him, at how beautiful (it was easy to admit it when she would never remember it) she still was, how hauntingly lovely her eyes were, and he hastened to extend an awkward arm and draw her to his side. He would be a lucky man indeed if he were allowed to have such a woman for his wife – oh he had her, yes, but not _all_ of her.

Why did he care so? Severus did not really know why his wife had smashed through all of his barriers and inched her way inside his heart. He did not love her, no, but still – she was _married_ to him. The law had been repealed (after a disastrous time where the Ministry enforced the entire population to it for a year in hope of a post-war population boom, it had been discarded after the remaining old guard had been pushed out) but he had no desire to divorce her. She could make that decision when she regained her mind, if she ever did. He knew that she would leave him if any of the trials ever proved successful – why on earth would she actually stay? Yet he was a steadfast man, and he was her husband. Even if it was only on paper, he would damn well support her. No one else was.

Her parents were as vicious as bulldogs when it came to their daughter, but there was no one in the Magical world that had kept up such regular visits. She hadn't been abandoned, not completely, but it was clear that Potter and Weasley only came out of a sense of boyhood obligation. They had lost hope. Severus certainly hadn't. What else did he have to hope for, after all?

Hermione cleared her throat, preparing to speak.

"Two years, eleven months and fifteen days, sweetheart," he said gently, sensing the question that would undoubtedly be asked.

Her sobs were louder and heavier this time; he waved a hand when Lavender's concerned face appeared in the small window beside the door, and the Healer nodded grimly and disappeared.

"It will be all right, Hermione. The Longbottom trial is days away. It's promising."

"It must be terrible if you're telling me that Neville Longbottom has created something promising," she said breathily between hiccoughs. Her attempt at humour was poor – the whole situation was poor – but he chuckled all the same. The sound came from deep within his stomach, somewhere far away from where his heart was disintegrating. She burrowed her face into his neck, dampening his skin with salted tears.

"I'm sorry to have done this to you, Severus. I never wanted to tie you down. Not ever."

"You haven't," he assured her, squeezing her shoulder when she tried to protest. "You are my wife, Hermione. No matter whether it is solely on paper or not. I will take care of you until you order me away."

"Then I w-"

"No," he began firmly, "not like this. You need me. Stop being so self-sacrificing. It is what it is, and I am here. When this ends, you may… decide what it is you wish to do."

She nodded into his shoulder and blew out a long breath. "I just want you to be free. I can't bear to think of you like this, tied to someone when you had no real choice. Tied to _me._ "

"Hush," Severus ordered softly. "Do not speak of it. These are the cards that we have been dealt. Give it time."

"I had a dream last night…" said Hermione, the words making him instantly alert. Dreams were new!

"Oh?" He tried to stay nonchalant, as if he wasn't waiting with bated breath.

"It was…" she ducked down further, her cheek on his chest now, hiding her face from his view. He turned slightly and drew her into his lap. Such a movement would have been unthinkable years ago when they were first married, but he was beyond that now. It calmed her; for some ridiculous reason, she found comfort in the arms of her old Potions Professor. He didn't care to dispute it. Besides, he needed it, too. Her thin arms wound around his body; he feel her fingers twisting into the woolen material of his frock coat.

Her voice was soft and low and he rested his chin on her hair as he listened. "I dreamt that… that the war was over, and you took me away from everything. You kept me safe."

"Me?"

"Yes…" she paused and swallowed. "Does that bother you?"

"Should it?"

"I don't want it to…"

"Then it doesn't. It doesn't bother me at all."

…

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Severus?"

"I would do that."

"Hmm? Do what?"

"Take you away; keep you safe. I'll do it. When this is over, if that's what you want, I'll do it."

"Do what, Professor? What are you talking about? What are you even doing here? Get out! I despise you and your forked tongue – you have no right to be here! Out! Now! That's right – leave, leave! You're a coward, Snape. Always hiding behind your big, bullying ways. Get out! Off you go. That's the way. Don't let the door hit you on the way out."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Work a little harder  
Keep your mind on death  
Get your things in order  
Take a deeper breath

 _Paul Kelly_

* * *

 **Two years, eleven months and sixteen days**

Severus stood outside the classroom of third years, listening intently as they shuffled their way into their seats. Each movement was marked by huffs of breath – it was a double period, and the last student to look forward to double Potions was the woman he'd just visited in St. Mungo's. It was trying, for all involved, though he found that since the war had ended, he didn't quite mind it. Teaching in itself was almost enjoyable; it felt safe, familiar.

His persona had only changed slightly since the fall of Riddle. Potions was still the one class where anything could (and often would) go wrong. Even during the years between the wars where he had been relatively (very, very relatively) able to teach the way he desired, it was still with a stern face and calculated voice, alongside an added dash of cantankerousness.

There was no other way to control a bunch of teenagers; he'd learnt that early on when he'd first started as a Professor at Hogwarts, when many of the students remembered him from when he'd spent years running from the now glorified party of four that made up his tormenters. Oh, he'd often given as good as he got, but only after he'd learnt that the only way out of being cornered by the Marauders – quite an apt word, if Marauders meant a bag of dicks – was by turning their own torturous methods back onto them instead.

The punishments, when doled out (always to him, rarely to them) were enough to make him see that equality would never occur at Hogwarts. Not when its Headmaster would barely chasten a Gryffindor who sent Severus to his death and left him with a vivid fear that had only just somewhat abated. Minerva was barely any better.

Even now, one of the most significant reasons for his return to his old position was to resume his post as the Head of Slytherin. Merlin knew that the new Headmistress did not have any soft spots left in her shriveled, bitter heart for those of his House. Someone had to; if he could champion his wife, he could damn well do it for these students, too.

They were a sad bunch. Many of the children had been left with one parent, though there were also a large number of new orphans. He'd honed his bedside manners over the last two years, to the point where even a seventh year would stumble to his office in the middle of the night now. Often they wouldn't speak of what nightmares drove them to seek his assistance, but it didn't matter. A cup of herbal tea with a calming draught would greet them all the same. He understood silent bravery, after all, and there were often younger siblings relying on the older brother or sister to stay stoic and strong. It wasn't uncommon to see him inside his office reading or marking silently while a student curled up on a chair in front of the fire on the other side of the room.

Somehow, the Slytherin students had decided that he was their best shot at getting through the psychological mess that was post-war emotions. And for such an overlooked group as them, they needed anything they could get.

From her guilt over her treatment of Severus, Poppy was on his side and had organised one of the St. Mungo's Healers to visit the dungeons covertly a month ago. The Healer was a quiet, elderly woman who he'd seen at times when making his daily calls on Hermione. That she only nodded and smiled at Snape instead of making a show when she recognised him was enough to have him endorse her to the rest of the group. Minerva had objected when he'd listed the Healer as an expense to be reimbursed, the old sour witch, and so he and Poppy had pooled their resources in a sum of galleons and sickles to pay for it. Let it not be said that Hogwarts staff rolled around in riches.

"Late again, Severus?"

 _Think of the devil and the devil shall appear…_

He painted on a scowl and turned to face Minerva. "Not at all, _Headmistress._ "

"Then why are you outside and not supervising the students?" She pursed her wrinkly lips and looked him up and down. "For all of your raving about how dangerous a subject it is, you are curiously unmindful of allowing them to wander around your classroom without an adult present."

"Ah." He nodded and set his shoulders, aware of her annoyance. "You object to Slytherins being inside alone with the Gryffindors? Never fear, madam – the students work well together. They often do when key… _figures_ are not around to _instigate_ them."

Minerva drew herself up; he frowned again when her eyes darted around the quiet corridor, as if searching for possible witnesses. Finding none, she took a step towards him. "You are late three days out of five, Professor Snape. I suggest you up your game-"

"If I am late, then it is because I am tending to your favourite student!" he hissed, advancing on her slowly, feeling a small, familiar shred of satisfaction when she backed away. "Do you mean to tell me that Madam Snape no longer deserves to be visited? Should I leave her there to _rot?"_

She squawked and jabbed a finger towards him, though she would not connect it with his chest. He scoffed at her timidity and rolled his eyes.

"You disgust me, Minerva. For all of your big words and _career_ advice, all you are looking to do is punish me for marrying her – just like you did to _her_ when she was your student!"

"I would _never-"_

" _Liar!_ When was the last time you visited Hermione? Tell me! You can't, can you?" He took one look at her mouth that was opening and closing like a fish out of water and sneered. "Well I can. I can tell you the last time _you_ visited, the last time _Harry Potter_ visited, the last time _Ronald Weasley_ visited – I can even tell you the last time that Phineas ruddy Black visited, because let me tell you, he takes a look in once a month which is more than anyone could ever say for _you!"_

He couldn't bring himself to stop, not even when the classroom door opened behind him and Minerva's eyes widened until they were fit to bust. The students must have been watching, but he found that he didn't even care.

"Let me tell you when you last visited Hermione _Snape_ , Headmistress. _One year,_ two months and _six_ days ago."

There was a collective sound of gasps from the open door, something that pleased him immensely. Hermione was dearly loved by many of the students of Hogwarts – it wasn't uncommon for him to find cards on his desk to take to his wife with well wishes inside, or sometimes even records of prayers by some of the Muggle-born and half-blood students. A pure-blood from his own house had once clipped a copy of the Lord's Prayer found in an old CoE prayerbook in the library onto a plain card. He'd taken particular care with the preserving spells for that one before slipping it into a box in his private sitting room that was filled with shrunken cards and letters. He figured that Hermione would want to see them… one day.

Turning back to the task at hand, he watched as Minerva flushed a bright beet red before storming away in the opposite direction, wiping furiously at her cheeks. He knew he'd upset the old witch – it wasn't that he even really wanted to. He was well aware of Minerva's hatred for him – she'd never forgiven him for Albus' death – but it incensed him that she allowed her feelings for him to overshadow her grief at Hermione's state. And Minerva _was_ grieving – it was as clear as a summer's day that she cared deeply for his wife.

But he could spare the old woman no pity, not when she couldn't seem to move past what had happened long ago. Hermione was his wife, and may the gods have mercy on anyone that came between Severus and the woman who was bound to him.

He turned on his heel in a billow of robes and waved a tired hand to the students still gawking in the door way. They scattered and hurried back to their seats, though not before one young Gryffindor shyly whispered to him, "Send my regards to Madam Snape, if you please, Professor," before scampering to her bench.

With that, he stood taller and let out a deep breath before walking resolutely down the middle of the classroom, turning with a flourish at the end and flicked his wand to shut the door with a bang.

"Students," he began ominously. They tensed, expecting a severe reprimand for listening in on the conversation. For effect, he glared at those who he knew had gasped the loudest when he had revealed Minerva's lack of visits. Then, unable to hold back a smirk, he simply said, "Turn to page two hundred and twenty three."

…

"Ginger snaps?"

"Yes, well..."

"I _remember_ these! They're my favourite, aren't they? Oh _yummy,_ Severus! Oh I remember that we used to have them together sometimes, you'd get your elf – what was her name... Tink! – to bring them when I stayed downstairs with you every now and then while you did your marking. I _miss_ that so much, Severus…"

"If I'd known you'd react so well, I would've brought them months ago."

"Mm. Well, not everyone likes them. I, for future reference, think they are divine. Lavender likes them too, you know. Will you give her a couple when you go out?"

"Of course I will, Hermione. May I have one?"

"Have what? These? Be my guest, they're disgusting. Just put them in the bin – I don't even know why you brought them. How could you think I would like them? You don't know me at all, do you? No. Of course you wouldn't – you hate me, after all."

"I do _not-"_

"Give it up, Snape," Hermione shrugged indifferently. "It is what it is."

He narrowed his eyes and looked more closely at her. "I said that to you only a few days ago. Do you remember our conversation? You were upset and I told you that you were my wife and I would always-"

"I'm _married_ to you? Good lord, who came up with that ridiculous idea? You must be dreaming, Professor. Are you feeling all right?"

Severus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, yes. I'm fine. Thank you, Hermione."

"You've never called me Hermione before," she said primly, then perched on the edge of the chair at her desk and ate another ginger snap. "I don't think you should start now. Student-teacher boundaries are important, you know. It's a useful learning tool when you're teaching a subject with such dangerous ingredients."

"Indeed."

Ten minutes later, she spoke again.

"Professor Snape?"

"Hmm?" He looked up from the book on his knees and removed the glasses that he only wore in her presence or alone. Hermione moved to sit beside him on the couch.

"Have you ever travelled?"

A snort escaped before he could rein it in, and she giggled. Wanting to hear the enchanting sound again, he found that he was soon chuckling along as she laughed freely. Struck by her beauty, Severus leaned forward slightly to see her better; someone had cut her hair short when she'd first been admitted (no one had owned up to it, after he had ranted and raved because she had always loved her hair that was almost a creature unto itself and bugger it all, he loved it, too) and it hung now to just past her shoulders. The shorter length meant the curls were a mesh of corkscrews and waves, and though he did miss her wild mane, he could see her face better now. It was simple work to admire the attractive blush to her cheeks, and the way her eyes gleamed.

 _If only…._

Finally, he managed to stop laughing long enough to say, "No. There was never time… once I was steadily employed at Hogwarts and had money coming in for once, I'd already begun spying. Even between the wars, there was rarely the chance for… sojourns, so to speak."

"Oh," she breathed, smiling at him bashfully, almost proudly. "I've travelled," she announced with aplomb. Snorting again, he cocked an eyebrow.

"Oh? Do continue."

"Only if you promise to listen and not interrupt." Dear lord, was she flirting with him? Still, it was harmless; she wouldn't remember it, and he _was_ her husband. He might have once felt a tad… iffy from her affections when she was in the mind of a student, but propriety could be damned for the afternoon.

"I promise."

"Well," she settled back against the cushions on the couch and drew her socked feet up so she could hug her knees to her chest, "I've been to a few places in Europe. France, Spain, Portugal. I quite liked them, but do you know where I really loved? I've only been once, but it's my dream to go again…"

"Where would this exceptional place be, Miss Granger?"

"Call me Hermione," she said promptly, swatting a hand through the air. "We should be on an even footing, don't you think?"

"All right." He shrugged. "Where do you want to go, Hermione?"

"Bali," she said with a feminine sigh, leaving him confused. Of all the places, she wanted to go to a tiny island at the ends of the earth that he'd only seen pictures of in one magazine in a Muggle supermarket? Then Severus decided that it really didn't matter. If Hermione wanted to go to New Zealand, then he'd take her skiing in… where was it? Queensland? No. Queenstown. Wherever it was, anyway, he'd bloody well take her. Bali was doable, though he'd need to learn some new cooling and translation charms, maybe get in touch with the local, indigenous magical community…

"Severus?"

"Ah. My apologies. My mind was elsewhere."

"Wow – you, Severus Snape- what's your middle name, by the way?"

"I do not have one," he admitted. At her disbelieving look, he nodded in confirmation. "It is very much true."

"Mine's Jean," she supplied.

"I know."

"Oh. Right. Anyway, I can't believe _you_ were woolgathering! Ha! Fantastic. Back to the subject at hand – Bali. I went once when I was younger. There was barely anything there; mum and dad met there years ago – mum's a bit of an alternative woman, did you know that?"

 _Christ, Helen Granger, alternative? Abso-ruddy-lutely not. Unless alternative means bollocks eating beast?_

"No, I did not know that about your mother. That's an interesting revelation."

"Mmm. Yes. So they took me for one last hurrah, as it were, as it's a bit expensive to get all the way down there, you see. I was only five but it was _fascinating!_ The heat was… it was alive, if you know what I mean. It felt like it crawled over my skin, like devil's snare in a way. So sticky and humid. And then the mountain air was so _clean._ I'd like to go back one day."

Severus looked at her thoughtfully, carefully measuring his words before he said, "Perhaps you will."

When the dead look returned to her eyes, he turned back to his book.

"Perhaps I will what?"

"Perhaps you'll enjoy this book I'm reading, Miss Granger. It's quite interesting; let me tell you more about it…"

…

"Did you have a row with the Headmistress again?" Lavender said between mouthfuls of a biscuit. "I just love ginger snaps. Mmm. Delicious. Thanks again, by the way."

"I did not 'have a row'," he insisted. "We merely did not see eye to eye on-"

"Hermione?"

"-on a number of things, most of which are _none of your business._ How did you come to such a conclusion?"

Lavender stared at him directly then curled her upper lip. "Really, Professor. Do you think I don't notice anything? You bring ginger snaps once or twice a month, and each time it coincides with new stories coming down the grapevine of shouting matches in the dungeons. Plus this is the second time you've visited today. Another telltale sign."

"What sort of grapevine connects Hogwarts to St. Mungo's?"

Bugger. He'd have to watch what he said from now on.

The Healer grinned and shook her head. "Can't tell you, I'm afraid. I'm bound by confidentiality agreements."

"About _gossip?_ "

"You can bet your ashwinder eggs that gossip is included. The things that go on in these wards…" she trailed off and smiled. "Well, good on you anyway. Minerva's got a stick of an immeasurable size up her backside these days. The poor woman doesn't understand how to deal with her grief. She'll come around one day, believe me, and when she does, it will be with an apology of epic proportions."

"Epic proportions?" he echoed faintly. "Sadly, I think you're delusional, Ms. Brown. Not that it matters. The Headmistress is entitled to her own opinions, as I am to mine. In turn, she also signs off on the deposits of my salary, so do your best to paint me in a good light on this grapevine, will you?"

"Always, sir," she agreed and broke open another biscuit before popping one half into her mouth. Chewing, she flicked her wand in the air and produced a complex looking calendar that would have impressed even his wife in the room across the hall. "The Longbottom trial is on Monday. Can you come?"

He grimaced and shook his head. "Not for this one. I'm hopeful, of course, but I have seventh years and Minerva won't authorise the expense of bringing a replacement in. But I'll be sure to come the morning of, and the afternoon as well."

"That's all right," Lavender said readily. Her smile was sympathetic this time, though Severus had seen it enough times to not bother about the damage to his already eaten away pride. "Neville told me yesterday that the patients – well, his parents and Hermione – are expected to sleep as part of the medicine's side effects. So you won't miss much. Just the administering of the Potion – good work on that, by the way; Neville finally confessed it was you, though I don't know why you didn't mention it – then the extra mental stimulants that his fancy new plants have gone into. She won't even be awake when you get here. The sleeping draught has to knock them out so the stimulants can work without waking them. I don't think she'll be up until Tuesday morning."

He elected to defend himself first. "I didn't tell you because it was Longbottom's _fancy new plants_ that were involved with making it. He is not… wholly inadequate and seems to have developed a talent for finding new specimens that could assist. I was merely the stirrer, measurer, etcetera, etcetera. And I will come anyway, that afternoon and the next morning."

"Righto. And don't downplay your part. I know you had a few all nighters while designing it."

" _How_ do you know such things?"

"Grapevine," she said breezily and moved out of the Healer's station to tap her lilac robes until they turned a light grey. "Excuse me, Professor. Time to get back to work." She began to make her way down towards the rooms of Alice and Frank Longbottom.

"Of course." He bowed his head slightly. "Send my greetings to both, if you would."

Without waiting for her reply, he strode towards the main doors and back downstairs to the Apparation point. In the blink of an eye, he was back at the gates of Hogwarts, alone again.

With a sigh of resignation, he took the small square of black wool out of his pocket and tapped it with his wand, watching as it returned to its original state. He drew the robes around him like a second, armoured skin and began the long walk up to the castle.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Somewhere deep inside,

Something's got a hold on you.

And it's pushing me aside,

See it stretch on forever.

 _Crowded House_

* * *

 **Two years, eleven months and nineteen days**

Severus strode down the main corridor of the Janus Thickney ward with long practiced resolution. Trial days were always painful, with no exceptions. Thanks to their close friendship with Hermione in the years prior, both the Weasley boy and Potter were kept abreast of upcoming tests and trials; as her husband, he could have cut that contact but the freckled idiot in particular usually had a few screws loose these days and Severus had no wish to resort to using defensive magic in the ward. Potter was less troublesome, though it still annoyed him to have to share his visiting hours.

By unspoken agreement, no one visited at the same time as Severus. Even on trial days, they stood outside while he checked in on his wife. That did not make the process any less frustrating.

Thanks to having had a hand in the creation of the current trial, Severus did not have to leave during the testing process, but that only worked in his favour if he had been able to arrange a replacement for his NEWT level students, which Minerva had vetoed. That was how he found himself walking towards the large group congregating outside of Hermione's closed door; Lavender was bustling between the group and the Healer's station, and it was only being amused at her harried, irritated features that stopped him from rolling his eyes when Ronald moved to the front of the small crowd. As usual, Potter emerged and laid a hand on his coworker's arm. Severus had never quite worked out whether it was in support or restraint, and his skin prickled instantly as he recalled the days when there had been four to ambush him, not two.

"Professor Snape," Harry said by way of a bland, polite greeting. Severus paused with his fingers on the door handle and inclined his head.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley."

There was some shuffling and growling in the group until Molly elbowed her way through with two bags hanging off her wrists. Severus groaned internally then fastened a faint smile on his face that widened into a grin when her youngest son scoffed.

"Hello dear," Molly said kindly, rising on her tip toes to plant a kiss on his cheek.

"Good afternoon, Molly," he returned, staring at the bags. The Weasley matriarch huffed and started loading them into his arms.

"Oh, don't be so proud, Severus. They're all kept with good, proper stasis charms, a variation I made myself, as you well know. All of your favourites." Her chest puffed out with the natural pride of a woman that sincerely enjoyed taking on a motherly role to any person that she could get her hands on. The meals always embarrassed him – he lived at Hogwarts, for Merlin's sake! – but he knew that Hermione would have accepted them politely had their roles been reversed and so he looped the bags around his wrists.

"Thank you, Molly. Your efforts are appreciated, as always."

"Which is stiff-upper-lip speak for thanks for doing my work for me," Ron hissed from his mother's side. Molly promptly pushed him back into the group of Weasleys and Severus noted with satisfaction that Percy was able to get in a solid whack to the back of the boy's head.

Severus had never particularly bothered to understand why it was that Ron Weasley had never stopped treating him with all of the disdain that he himself would treat shite under his boots. He'd been similar ever since his first Potions class, though it had worsened since the day Hermione had swirled her signature next to his with a shaking hand that had, in all honesty, endeared her to Severus immensely. From that day, he'd made a vow to himself – one of his only, independent promises that he was free to make on his own – to take care of the woman that had willingly entered into such an arrangement with him. She had never complained, nor had she ever spoken a bad word to anyone about their situation. He himself had also never done such things, believing she was worthy of his respect after her steady acceptance of becoming Madam Snape; she had shown maturity beyond her years, and he had thanked her for it more than once during his more morose periods. Weasley was simply a rotting piece of baggage that came along with her; he could only hope that when she was cured, she would think twice before allowing the boy back into her life. If all of this was because he believed that he loved her, then she – and by extension, Severus – would never have any peace without firm action.

There had been nights not long after their 'wedding' (signing the papers whilst having afternoon tea in Albus' office) that he'd even swum into the dangerous waters of imagining their future. He hadn't initially expected to live past the end of the war, but there had been a night just a week after their nuptials that Hermione had walked shyly into his office and kick-started his desire to witness the triumph of the Light with of all the enthusiasm that she possessed.

…

 _1997_

"Professor?"

Hermione stopped in the doorway, leaning against it slightly. Severus was at his desk, catching up on marking fourth year Defence essays that were growing more ridiculous by the letter. He snatched at the chance to put them off and removed his glasses, looking up at his wife who was watching him with a shy smile on her face. Leaning back in the chair, he gestured for her to take a seat.

"Good evening, Miss-"

"Hermione," she corrected with a small grin, reflecting their ongoing private, awkward battle to organise their boundaries and treatment of each other. He inclined his head, though his careful, blank expression did not change.

"Good evening, _Hermione._ "

The rosy blush to her cheeks as he intentionally took his time with the vowels of her name was becoming, though he brushed it under the carpet. It was inappropriate; she may have been his wife, but she was his wife in name only and while they were on polite, almost friendly terms, he was determined to ensure that she felt safe when alone with him. And safe meant maintaining a respectful note to their fledging relationship.

Besides, she was seventeen and though she was a legal adult in the wizarding world, Hermione was still a student. His student no longer, as she had private lessons with the Headmaster now (which Severus actually gave her) to keep up the image of impartiality, but a student under his care all the same. He was not interested in letting his razor sharp focus slip even for one moment. There was a war to be won, after all.

"What can I do for you?" he asked as she sat in the chair on the other side of the desk. Under the cover of her school robes, she brought her feet up and tucked them under her legs.

"Oh, nothing really," she said, fidgeting with the hem of the robes. Her gaze was directed on her knees, though her eyes flashed up to his in one timid moment of directness. "I just thought… well…" She stopped, and on a whim, he rolled the office chair around until they were sitting side by side. The shocked look she gave him prompted him to smirk and turn his face away to hide a full and proper grin of amusement.

"Despite the rumours, I do not bite, wife," he said, attempting to be gentle but her fingers trembled for a moment and he instantly regretted his words, knowing that he probably sounded like a possessive git for referring to her by her title when he'd only intended to jest.

Her face was pink again when she looked up at him, her lips slightly parted. She wet them and he busied himself with making them tea for something to focus on instead of her mouth.

"No, of course you don't," she said into the air when he was handing her the cup and saucer. If she noticed that the china shook at her announcement, she wisely mentioned nothing.

Intrigued, he took a sip of tea and arched an eyebrow. "Not that I am not amenable to your presence, but I am curious as to what would make you… seek me out."

Hermione nodded slowly and bit her lower lip. He waved a hand to her teacup and watched her over the rim of his own. When she set her own steaming cup down, she sat straighter and fixed him with a full wattage smile; he would've spat out the tea in his mouth if he hadn't swallowed it down just seconds before. Severus coughed and attempted to look stern.

Her voice wavering slightly, she folded her hands together in her lap and said, "I'd like to hear your opinion on Master Ahlber's latest article in Potions Quarterly. I think it's quite insipid, myself; why use such a narrow focus for those particular flowers? And a foolish focus, at that? But I thought you might have a different opinion."

And not for the first time in his new wife's presence, Severus Snape was utterly dumbfounded by the lovely young witch who had decided that she wished to spend time not only in his presence, but in listening to his opinions. Gods, how long had it been since he had spoken _with_ someone, instead of _to_ someone? Even years prior at conferences, other Masters or Apprentices would only listen and nod politely to his theories, too wary of the sternly buttoned man to enter into a proper conversation with him.

He leaned forward in the chair and rested his elbows on his knees, steepling his fingers. Their proximity was unnerving; she was closer to him when he arranged his long limbs in this way, and he realised that he didn't feel the slightest inch of discomfort coming from her. In fact, she angled her body to face him better and cradled her chin in her palm as if settling in.

Encouraged by her open invitation, Severus offered her a small, hesitant smile and studiously ignored the strange burn-like feeling in his chest when she returned it. His stomach must have disagreed with the cheesecake he'd taken a bite out of at dinner.

"Well, Hermione, I think you'll find that the dunderhead's theory _is_ insipid, though I shall tell you the real reasons why…"

…

"Severus, dear? Did you hear me?"

He blinked and refocused on Molly, ignoring the sniggering of Ron and George. George he could look past, given he'd taken most of his ear off and he laughed at everything, but he sent a sharp glare to his younger brother.

"Forgive me, Molly – I was just thinking over the details of the trial."

"Of course. Lavender told us that it was administered at midday?"

He inclined his head. "Yes, the main Potion was due at midday; the draught to send her to sleep came after, followed by Apprentice Longbottom's concoctions designed to stimulate her mind and memory. It is my understanding that Healers specialising in dark curses have also been present to do the standard checks on her scars to confirm that there are no other curses residing in them. All of which we have done before, of course, but it always pays to-"

"Hang on a minute there Snape," Ron cut in, pushing his way to the front of the group again. "Are you telling me that you weren't even _there_? Are you so much of a coward that-"

With his last bit of patience shredded to dust, Severus took one, calculated step towards the boy, forcing him to tilt his chin in order to keep eye contact. His height was an advantage in times such as these, even more so when Bill came to stand beside his younger brother; he towered over them both.

Narrowing his eyes, he lowered his voice and said silkily, "I suggest you listen to your mother, _boy,_ and give up while you are behind. I'll not have anyone treating my _wife's_ ward as a playground because they were too _stupid_ to learn even the most basic forms of human interaction. I will say this once, and never again: get out of my sight, or I will personally ensure that every single one of your visits with Madam Snape will be conducted under supervision. _My_ supervision."

The idiot boy paled and spluttered, his face a furious shade of red. Severus pushed past him, uncaring of Molly's attempt to placate him and Arthur's weary sigh. If they couldn't control their children, then it was not his job to do it for them.

Upon entering her room, he nodded to Lavender and Longbottom, both of whom were standing in the corner of the room studying the magical charts that were hovering in the air before them. This was Neville's final project before attaining his Mastery in Herbology. Privately, Severus thought that even if it wasn't successful, the wizard deserved his certificate anyway, not that he would say it out loud. There would be time for that later, he decided, and he made a beeline for the thin, pale woman sleeping deeply in the bed in the middle of the room. The lilac bedspread had been drawn up to her shoulders, but her cheeks were close to being gaunt and the shadows under her eyes were more pronounced than ever.

Without taking his eyes off of her, he eased himself onto the mattress at her side and said to the other two in the room, "I did not believe the newer plants would be this taxing on her, Apprentice Longbottom. I've viewed the hourly reports you've sent me today, but why have you not mentioned…" His words failing him, he made a worn out gesture at his wife.

Lavender tutted in sympathy and approached Hermione then bent down and smoothed back a stray curl from her forehead. Severus looked down at his lap, struck by a strange wish that he had been the one to notice it, if only to feel her smooth skin under his fingertips.

Longbottom came next, coming to a stop at the foot of her bed. "This is all to be expected, Professor Snape. The side effects were detailed in-"

"All right, all right." He held up a hand, not wanting to draw more attention to the missed fact that Neville had probably sent him the information, but he'd been too wrapped up in his wife to really see it. "As long as this is not abnormal, then I am content with it. But, Ms. Brown, we must see that she is-"

"Fed with extra nutrients and calories," she finished his sentence softly, meeting his eyes over Hermione's still form. "We shall be sure to do so, sir. Remember that we are working as hard as you, to do our best for her. We're in this together."

Not knowing what else to say, he simply nodded and hummed in agreement.

…

Severus stayed at Hermione's side until the window in her room reflected the moon high in the sky. He'd missed dinner in the Great Hall yet again, though Poppy had elected to stay rather than accompany him so there was someone present to redirect Minerva's scrutiny.

The rest of the visitors came in once, trickling in then out again in under ten minutes. Molly wept, as usual, and Arthur merely stared dejectedly at the bed. Percy sat silently beside Severus for a few minutes after the rest of the family left, the Ministry employee putting a hand on his shoulder and muttering kind words before he, too, left the Potions Master in peace.

Lavender came in and out, though there was not much to see.

He hated being with Hermione when she was like this. His visit in the morning had been none too different from those in the earlier days when she had achieved no moments of comprehension at all. It had been rushed; he'd barely had enough time to greet her and hand her the new books for the week before needing to Apparate back to Hogwarts in time for lessons.

It was with regret that he realised now that Hermione had most likely gone to sleep without even remembering that she was married at all.

Not that theirs was even a marriage… but it still was, to him anyway. For all the insults tossed his way by old ex-hopefuls, Severus was an honourable man and he deeply respected his wife. Having felt undeserving of loving and being loved in return, he'd never examined his feelings further, but as he kept watch at her bedside, there was a sinking feeling in his heart that felt as if it were truly breaking. And all over this small witch lying so peacefully in her hospital bed.

The quiet creak of the door had him tensing again as he waited for another visitor to come in. Annoyed at the intrusion, he cleared his throat pointedly and turned, letting out a fatalistic exhalation upon coming face to face with Harry Potter. The young man's eyes were flitting from Hermione to Severus, his face a careful look of examination that made the older wizard grind his teeth.

"Come to see the show, Potter?" he sneered, his self-restraint shuffling out the door in time with each of Hermione's breaths. When Harry didn't speak, Severus swiveled back around in the chair to continue his vigil.

Truthfully, he'd let go of the old anger surrounding James Potter's son; the boy had managed to defeat Riddle, after all, and even if his own assistance generally went unacknowledged, he really couldn't be bothered to summon any more loathing than was already directed at himself anyway.

Finally, Harry moved further into the room and stood not far from where Severus was still sitting on the bed. "It's not often that I'm able-"

"I don't want to hear it," Severus said flatly. "Make your excuses to her when she is cured. I've had enough of the lot of you."

"I wasn't talking to you," Harry shot back in a quiet mutter. "Can you give me some privacy, here?"

His answer was an immediate, "No." To be frank, Severus could not find a damn to give at – he checked the Tempus that was quietly ticking away on the back wall – nine PM.

"Right, well… don't repeat anything I say to anyone."

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose for the umpteenth time that day and ignored Harry until the younger wizard took another step closer to Hermione. Despite his genuine lack of interest in anything Harry Potter had to say, he still found himself listening when the young man drew in a deep breath and knelt to touch Hermione's hand.

"It's not… it's not often that I'm able to visit you, 'Mione, and I'm…" he looked back at Severus furtively, who was studying the ceiling. With a passive shrug, Harry continued on. "I'm sorry. I should have made more time over the years… I have my excuses, not that they are all that good… Auror training, and trying to come to terms with the mess that is this bloody country – sometimes I wonder whether it would have even been worth it to die for some of the people I meet with these days. It's… it's a bit of a worrying thought. No doubt you'd pinch my ear for thinking it. I can almost…" Again he paused and Severus found another place to stare at so the boy would keep going; it had been so long since anyone had truly spoken to Hermione as if she were worthy of their words. As if she had enough value to listen, the way she would have done before all of this mess began. He would never admit it to anyone but her, but his tolerance for the boy was grudgingly increasing.

"I can almost hear you speak most days, did you know that?" Harry raised his voice and between snorts of laughter, he mimicked the young witch, "'Harry James Potter! You know bloody well just who got you to the final confrontation, and you've barely even visited me in the past month!' I think that's pretty spot on. And I just heard a grunt out of your husband, so I reckon I'm not far off the mark. Don't let him kill us all for abandoning you when you come back to us, all right? He seems to really want to.

"Anyway… I'm getting married, Hermione. Ginny and I were always heading in that direction, I guess, but I asked her last night. You're the first person I've told. I bet Snape here feels pretty smug or maybe even just ticked off at being the second. I want a family, 'Mione. She's got to finish her Apprenticeship under the curse breakers first of course, but I hope that within the next five years… well, I hope you'll be an Aunty. And I hope that you'll be around to see it. I know you always said that you didn't want to shack up right out of school and have kids with Ron-"

 _Did she? I didn't know that…_

"-but, well, when you wake up, you'll have a choice about all of that, won't you? I hope our kids will play together. I don't even think I'd mind if they came out with a hooked nose – ah. I want you to know that your husband just sent a stinging hex my way. Just, you know, for the record. I might have deserved it. But truly – I don't even care if you want to have kids with this cranky bugger. Just be around to make the choice.

"We all miss you… Gin does, but it's hard for her… she's trying to manage Ron and me at the same time. I keep telling her she'll fail at that; Ron's never been in his right mind when it comes to you. He's so possessive about you, even though he's got no right to be. No one's got any right to possess you, not unless you want them to, erm… right, moving on. Long story short: Ron's still a git, I'm still trying to mop up his messes and Snape's at his wit's end with him so it'd be best if you woke up and shipped us all into shape. Love you."

Severus was left staring into an empty room again as Harry sped out of the door without a second look. He fancied that the heat of the younger man's blush could still be felt in the room.

…

Much later, he was in bed in his chambers. Lavender had led him down to the Floos and pushed him into one, claiming that while she was allowed to stay up all night on her designated shift, he was certainly not. Nerves had kept him awake, and he was currently lying in bed with his eyes closed, going over each and every memory – even the most painful ones – that he had of the woman he could now acknowledge that he cared for.

It was stupid, really. It wasn't like she could ever return his feelings in her current state. Even if she was cured, what woman in her right mind would want _him?_ She'd been forced into this marriage, and he wouldn't blame her if the first thing she did upon waking (if she ever did) was to send him divorce papers with her signature already on each page.

Which was why, when Lavender's face appeared in the fire of his bedroom at three thirty in the morning, he was torn between covering his body and burrowing into the bedcovers, willing her away, or stumbling to answer the call.

The second desire won out, and he was soon standing in front of the Healer's wide eyed and bobbing face.

"Professor," she said firmly, "I think you need to get yourself down here immediately."

Fear clenching and twisting his insides, he knelt down with a face as white as the walls around him. "Ms. Brown – _Lavender,_ tell me that she is all right. Tell me that-"

"Stop, sir." She looked behind her, then back at him. He could hear the sounds of other people bustling around, the heightened activity unusual for the Healer's rooms so late at night. "Just come, right now."

"Should I call anyone? Her parents?" he croaked out, pulling clothes quickly out of the chest of drawers beside the bed. "Helen should know if she's deteriorated, buggering hell, she's probably at work, I don't know what to bloody well _do-"_

" _Severus!"_ Lavender's use of his first name had him stopping his tirade from surprise. He turned to face the witch slowly, not understanding the small hint of a smile on her lips. The blood roared in his ears like a flood that had no hope of being contained by sandbags, and he dropped to his knees in front of the Healer again.

"Tell me," he begged, hating himself for wanting to cry but knowing that he would anyway if she even started to tell him that Hermione, his Hermione, his _wife,_ was going to d-

"She's asking for you; for Severus Snape, her husband. She's _awake_."


	5. Chapter 5

_You can thank Banglabou's diamond encrusted whip for the speedy update… ;-) Forgive me for the delay in replies for chapter 4. Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read/follow/review and favourite the story._

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

Now the moon will rise on your naked faith

Cause a wave to break where you bathe

Someday I will serve you, some day.

 _Chris Whitley_

* * *

 _1997_

"Do you take me for a fool, Albus?" Severus muttered, raking both hands through his shoulder length hair. The Headmaster merely shrugged and continued watching him with his normal, infuriatingly chipper expression. Severus was partial to the idea that it was the look of a ruthless and shrewd dictator, not that many others agreed with him.

"Of course I do not. Name me any other who would be able to protect Miss Granger in the way that you can, and I shall contact him immediately. There _is_ no other option."

The adamant refusal had Severus standing and moving to the front of the office to pace back and forth. "There are others, Albus! Others she would not find so…" he flinched but went on anyway, "…repulsive. I have lived in hell for years, it doesn't matter to me, but how you have come to the conclusion that she should share such a life, I have not even the slightest idea. Tying her to me will ruin her eventually, Albus – mark my words! She'll be more of a target than she's ever been. It'll be just one more nail in the-"

"You know I don't follow your Muggle references, Severus," Albus said pointedly, his bright eyes hardening. Severus shrugged off the remark. The Headmaster not understanding things that he said were often the main reason that he even bothered to say them in the first place.

"Be that as it may – this is a terrible idea, even for you. In your current state-"

"Enough!" Albus thundered, tucking his blackened hand inside his robes. "You _will_ marry the girl – it is _your_ Dark Lord that has come up with such a plan, anyway! Do not think that I am making this decision on a whim, Severus. Miss Granger must be protected. I will not have you sprouting nonsense such as those of her year being able to do so – Ronald Weasley is an intelligent young man, but his strategic skills do not transfer to lying to the face of Tom Riddle! Likewise, Remus Lupin – he is at the bottom of the pack. He _has_ no pack. There would be no difference in Miss Granger marrying either man. Even Harry cannot do what you can, which is hide her in plain sight! You know this!"

Severus returned to the chair and sat down heavily, putting his head in his hands. Of all the things he had prepared for when he had been summoned to the meeting with the Headmaster, it was _not_ this. Speaking his true thoughts, he mumbled, "The girl despises me, Albus. She would never forgive me for…"

"For what? Taking her innocence? It matters not, as you will do no such thing. We are not so archaic as to force consummation-"

"Thank Merlin for that!"

"-and she _understands,_ more than most, of how delicately your role must be managed."

Severus narrowed his eyes and stared at the Headmaster, picking up on the unsaid hints. "You have spoken to her already! Admit it!"

"And if I have?"

His shoulders sagged and he sighed; it was not in anger, nor frustration. The cost to Severus had already been so high that this was merely just another rung in the self-sacrificial ladder that he climbed each day. He already spent blood, sweat and honest to Merlin tears to protect these students; what was a piece of paper when compared to that?

"And… and what did Miss Granger have to say?"

"Ah." Albus suddenly resumed his grandfatherly persona; he popped a sweet into his mouth, the mood change almost giving the younger wizard whiplash. Severus rolled his eyes and gestured for him to get a move on.

"Patience, Severus. You will need it in the days to come, though perhaps not for the reasons that you think. Miss Granger… or should I say Hermione, has no objections to the match. In fact, when presented with the alternatives before your name was even mentioned, _she_ was the one who said she would prefer _you_ above all."

"It means nothing," he shot back. "You have marked me for her; the alternatives were window dressing."

"If you think so, my boy. Go now, Severus, and ready yourself. Your bride – oh don't look so dour, it does have a nice ring to it, I've always wanted to see you married one day – will arrive in time for afternoon tea."

…

"And this is the door you will use to gain access to your new quarters. I apologise for it being within my office," Severus said stiffly, "but it presents a…"

"United front?" Hermione supplied, easing her bag onto her other shoulder. He nodded when she smiled tentatively. The plain gold wedding band on her left ring finger glinted under the candlelight for a short moment. Still shocked how quickly the events of the day had steamrolled past him, he looked down at his own silver ring with a frown.

Feeling the urge to say it though knowing he would botch it anyway, he kept his eyes on the ring as he said, "Miss Granger, I am aware that the situation will be _trying_ for us both. Our dealings with each other will not change for the most part, nor will your position within the school. There will be times when we will have to be seen together, of course, but I do not believe that shall need to occur very often." He pursed his lips as he wondered the best way to put what needed to be said, for he was under no illusions about what the girl was no doubt feeling about the situation. Treading on unsteady ground but unsure of how to make sure that she knew he expected nothing from her, he went on, "And I certainly do not envisage the two of us spending more time together than utterly necessary."

He really didn't. Just the day before, she was still his student. It may have been the holidays, but he himself had never desired a student in any way, shape or form, and wasn't about to start now. For her part, Severus only wished to reassure her that this farce of a marriage was purely for her safety; nothing more, though nothing less.

Hermione looked down at her shoes and reached almost absentmindedly to tug on the end of her plait, a girlhood habit, he figured. Though what it meant, he had no idea. He couldn't see her face from this angle to have any hope of interpreting her silence, but when she looked up, her expression was grim yet determined. She seemed to grow taller before his eyes until he realised that she had set her bag down and straightened her shoulders.

"Sir," she said, and her voice seemed lower, almost… _pleasing_ in this context; he didn't think they'd ever actually been alone together in a room with the door closed before. Unnerved by her proximity and the directness of her gaze, he took one small step back and covered it by placing his hands behind his back, as if he was merely shifting his long limbs. Hermione smiled again, which annoyed him.

 _Shouldn't she be crying by now? Every single other girl in her position would be. Does she find the situation funny?_

She did; that was the only reasoning he could come up with for why she seemed so at ease. Severus scowled, and her smile tapered off somewhat until only the corner of her lips curved up at the end.

"I'd like to apologise to you for intruding on your privacy, Professor," she said softly. Flummoxed, he raised both of his eyebrows and waited for the rest of her little speech. "I know this is the very last thing that you would ever want-"

"Your safety is paramount, Miss Granger," he butted in. It was certainly freeing to have an excuse to confide in someone – what was her wedding ring, after all, if not an oath to keep his secrets? He knew he'd judged her correctly when she nodded quickly instead of squawking in shock.

"And you've sacrificed yourself yet again to be the person who will _provide_ that safety, sir."

Severus cleared his throat and shrugged. "It is what it is."

"Yes," she breathed, nodding again and picking up her bag. "I'm glad that we agree. I don't want to take up more of your time than is necessary, and I will do my best to keep out of your way." Taking her statement to mean that she herself didn't want much more to do with him, he walked towards the door to her chambers. He'd never expected anything less from a schoolgirl forced into a marriage with her thirty seven year old teacher anyway. Not that he _wanted_ her to want anything more – or did he? It would have been flattering; it wasn't like there was anyone lining up for his time...

He shook his head minutely, clearing his thoughts so as not to head any further in to the confusing jumble they were becoming. When he was sure of himself again, he offered her a token glower and jerked his chin to the stairs revealed by the door.

"Into your tower, Miss Granger," he said dryly.

She gave a short giggle, a foreign sound to his office, and advanced across the room. When she was standing between the doorframe and his body, close enough for him to see that her hair actually looked _soft_ despite its crawling, ensnaring nature, he stiffened. She smelt of jasmine and something exotic… he knew it though… before he could stop himself, he took a deep breath despite her widening eyes.

 _Frangipani. Mum always liked frangipanis…_

"Sir?"

His eyes had closed. Buggering hell. He crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. "Miss Granger?"

The witch hesitated, and then put a hand on his arm. He almost shrugged it off, but allowed the touch even though his body flinched at the contact. If she were in her school robes, it would've been another matter, but as it were, she was in jeans and a blue cardigan, looking far too mature for his comfort. His thoughts were a mess yet again, but chief among them was something disconcerting: _she's my wife, and if she wants to touch me, then why should I reject her? It is purely platonic, after all. I'm old enough to be her father. And I'll be responsible for the death of the Headmaster that she more than likely reveres, god help me. She'll hate me by the end of the year._

There was absolutely no doubt in his mind that after she heard of his task, his wife would despise him, as well she should. He would despise himself, after all. He had been right to try and object to this preposterous match; why hadn't Albus bloody well listened? Whatever warm feelings that he'd had previously evaporated with that thought and Hermione drew back from the way his features grew cold.

"I just…" She tilted her head to the side, that ambiguous gesture that could mean anything and everything. Her expression was curious and, surprisingly, open and inviting. "I just wanted to say, sir, that, well… we _are_ married and… _I'dliketobeyourfriendifyou'llhaveme_. Goodnight, sir."

She all but ran up the stairs, her scent rushing back to him when her door at the top closed quickly. With no idea about why he was even doing it, he waited until the lock clicked, then closed his eyes and breathed in again.

…

"You had _no_ right!"

"I had _every_ right! I _have_ every right! You are my _wife,_ or have you forgotten so quickly?"

"How could I forget? I have to wear your ring every day! As you have to wear mine, so don't think that I'm the only one suffering at the moment. Oh! You bloody well made me lose my train of thought!"

Forgetting himself, Severus snorted and quickly put a hand over his mouth. "Sorry."

"Oof!" Hermione threw her hands up and flung herself down on the chair in his office. "I can fight my own battles, sir. Ronald has always been a bit prickly-"

"He's an arse," Severus shot back flatly, curling his lip when she huffed.

"Of course he is, but he's still my _friend._ I've been arguing with him since first year, sir. Besides, what he said wasn't… wasn't…"

"Wasn't new?" he supplied evenly. Anger spread again from his stomach to his chest; possessive anger that he had no right to feel. But he still did. "Does the Weasley idiot make it a habit of disparaging your… situation?"

"Oh come on. You know everyone does. But who cares? I don't! If you go around thundering at everyone who even _hints_ at-"

"Miss Granger," Severus snarled, "I do not accept _anyone_ who thinks they are within their rights to tell you that you have… what were his exact words…" He tapped the side of his nose for effect. "Ah. 'Lifted your skirt for a new grade or two'. Are you telling me that I _should_ allow insipid creatures to say such things to my wife?"

Grumbling unintelligibly, Hermione called for Tink and smiled kindly on the she-elf before ordering them some strong black tea along with a few squares of chocolate – white for him, dark for her. "No! That's not what I'm saying. But I was handling it just fine."

"Might I remind you that it was _your_ shouting that piqued my interest? If you wish for me to stay away and not defend what I _should,_ then have your arguments behind closed doors and not in the middle of corridors!"

Tink reappeared and Hermione busied herself with pouring his cup, the movements now familiar to him after four weeks of marriage. He watched as her short, delicate fingers touched the lid of the teapot as she poured the steaming liquid, then flexed to snap off a square of white chocolate that she placed carefully on the edge of his saucer. Such a domesticated scene was not something he'd ever envisioned during the first few awkward days, but now… now, he found he had been looking forward to entering his office after a long day and letting Miss Granger – _Hermione_ , he reminded himself – do what she felt she needed to. It wasn't even worth objecting to, not when he was beginning to think that it wasn't at all unpleasant. Like cool water on a hot day, her presence was a balm to him, which almost rivalled the shock of Albus' ruddy ring.

"Good point," she said after she bit into one of her own squares. "But really-"

"Enough, _Hermione._ " He covered his smirk with the teacup when she instantly flushed and looked down shyly at her lap. "You have handled Mr. Weasley in the past, you will continue to handle him now and in the future. But do not expect that I will go easy on anyone insulting you not only in public, but also in my presence." Tentatively, he added in a softer voice, "Let me… Let me protect you."

He didn't understand her reaction at all. Her head whipped up and she looked at him for a long time with a confused smile playing on her lips, as if she had discovered some great, feminine secret. Severus rubbed his forehead and looked away, but not before he heard her whispered, "I would like that very much."

He left the office soon after, puzzled at whatever urge had made him say such a thing. She stayed behind, her tea stained eyes following his every move.

…

 _2001_

Two years, eleven months and twenty days after the war had ended, Severus stumbled out of the Floo and into the Healer's staff room.

His tongue felt heavy, his heart was pounding and his limbs moved as if a puppet master was intent on dragging them across the floor. His heart was struggling to keep up with the fear coursing through his veins, a fear that was unexpected and entirely unwelcome.

He forced his body to stop in the quiet, deserted room. Leaning against the wall, Severus bent his body in half as he breathed in heavily through his nose and exhaled out of his mouth.

 _She is asking for me! Hermione is awake, and asking for me!_

There was no way of deciding what emotions pushed through his body and into his mind first. Elation, pure and true, came first, followed by blinding panic. Only his eyes could see and take in the room; there was a ringing in his ears, blocking out all sound, and his body was a dead weight. His heart stuttered.

Fear overrode any slivers of self-preservation. It was as if her waking had thrown him into a tunnel back into the Final Battle, when Arthur had trudged along the ground with Hermione's body in his arms before he transferred her into Severus' own disbelieving hold. In the staff room, he fancied he could even smell the charred flesh still, the fires burning over the castle grounds, the scent of bodies (both human and not) suffering the indignity of the loosening of bowels that came with death by white hot violence.

"Professor – shh, you're all right, Professor. You're in St. Mungo's; you're not a patient, you are a visitor, you are free to leave at any moment. You are alive, there are no threats to you or your wife. Breathe in and out, slowly now – that's the way. Close your eyes and listen to my voice, sir. In and out; in and out."

Humiliation threw an ice bucket over his panic attack as Lavender eased his body lower until he sat on the tiled floor, his head between his knees. The only touch she gave him was a steady, unmoving palm on his shoulder. It took him a full minute to realise that she was murmuring low words that made up a spell, for her palm grew warm and it began to pulse, providing a basic rhythm that drummed gently underneath her hand. Slowly but surely, his breathing matched the rhythm, _in and out, in and out,_ and the thrumming of his heart left the ledge of imitating the wings of a hummingbird, and instead slid down to basic, life giving beats.

"Forgive me," he muttered, mortified. Ignoring how his body swayed with the too-quick movement, he stood and reached a hand out to the wall to steady himself. When his vision cleared, it was filled with a scowling Healer.

"Panic attacks are not an insult to me or you, Professor, so don't ask for forgiveness," she said sternly. "And don't you think that I won't be adding you to my weekly checkups along with your wife. Stubborn sods, the both of you."

"Remind me to not get on your bad side," said Severus, wincing when she gave a motherly _tsk_ of her tongue.

"Sit down for a moment, won't you? We should talk about what's going on in there."

Reality crashed back into his skull. "I want to go in-"

"In a moment." There was no room to move in her tone. Severus sat down at the staff dining table and frowned. Lavender held up a hand and sat opposite him. "This is important, Professor Snape. I understand that your main instinct, your _husbandly_ instinct – oh don't glower so – is to go to your wife. But I want you to go to Hermione when you are calm and collected, and I want to tell you now that there is a long road ahead for the both of you."

Severus sighed and hung his head. She had to have forgotten him, for Lavender to be speaking in such terms. Either that or she wanted nothing to do with him. He'd forgotten that Hermione's memory charms on her parents had ended when she had clinically died for thirty seconds just after he'd Apparated them into St. Mungo's three years ago, and so his wife might be naturally believing that as her next of kin, Severus was the only one to call. It was with a sinking feeling that he finally looked up at the young Healer and nodded.

"Yes… I imagine she will be wanting to-"

Lavender shook her head and stood. "No, sir. Don't imagine, don't assume. I told you the truth – Hermione has been asking for her husband, for _you._ But she is distressed, and within reason. I have elected not to inform her of the current state of affairs, as I expect that you will know the best way to approach such things with her."

"Wait-" He stood abruptly and moved to the door. "Does she not remember? The end of the war – the last three years – does she not remember anything?"

"I didn't say that, sir," Lavender chided him. "Go and find out for yourself. But for Merlin's sake; don't rush into anything. Give her time to process things if need be. No decisions have to be made yet, and she will be with us until she is ready for that to change. Go on, now. I'll be right behind you."

Taking the hint that she was giving him a few moments of privacy, Severus yanked the door open and strode quickly down to where other Healers were milling around Hermione's door. As he approached, one knocked on the door and whoever had been inside slipped out with a triumphant grin towards him.

Ignoring the older man's outstretched hand, Severus reached for the handle and turned it slowly, licking his lips to dry and relieve his dry mouth. In that instant before seeing his wife again, he made the second vow with himself concerning Hermione: _if it is within my power, I will see to it that she is happy again, that she is safe._ She was still his wife for as long as she'd allow the ring to stay on her finger and his last name to be hers.

With a deep breath, he stepped inside.

The room was dark; dawn was still at least two hours away. Immediately his eyes trained on the small, familiar figure curled up on the bed facing the wall. The restraining of his wild hope was impossible, and it was the sweetest, most memorable music to his ears when he heard a hoarse, haughty voice say, "I _told_ you, I don't want _anyone_ to be here unless it's my husband. Severus Snape is my husband, and if you don't get him, then I'm not going _anywhere."_

Gods above, she sounded like a petulant, spoilt child. And all for _him._ He swallowed nervously, his heart back to thumping furiously though for the life of him, he could not pin down just why his body was reacting so. With one timid step, he moved further into the room.

"Hermione?"

The change in his wife was instantaneous. He saw her body freeze, as if disbelieving, then before he could even speak again, the small tiny figure from the bed was setting shaking legs over the side and hurtling towards him until she stopped only a hair's breadth away.

 _So utterly lovely…_

Severus couldn't move; he couldn't speak. He opened his mouth but words would not form, let alone sound themselves out into the air.

She stood before him in a knee length white cotton nightgown, her features unchanged from when he had visited every day, sometimes twice a day, for almost three years. There was barely any difference between the face of this woman and that of the one that had signed her name next to his on their wedding certificate, then told him so shyly and so sweetly that she wished to be his friend. He would not have been able to discern this Hermione from the one that had wept in his lap only days ago.

With one exception.

Her eyes, her brilliant whiskey eyes, were shining in the dark room; something had struck flint and steel and sparked a life within those eyes, those orbs that were locked on his black gaze.

He stuttered and started, then gave up on speech. She, too, only watched him for so long, her face the picture of concentration. He began to feel wary, wondering if Lavender had misspoken and she was missing chunks from her memories.

But then she spoke.

First, Hermione lifted her hands ever so slowly, as if approaching a wild beast. When her fingertips made contact with his cheeks, he let out one broken sigh and closed his eyes, willing the tears not to spill over. He'd thought he'd been successful, too, until her fingers dabbed at a single line of salted moisture that ran from the corner of his eye to his jaw. He opened his eyes, transfixed, and watched as she brought the finger to her own lips and tasted the subtle tang of the tear.

It was like morning and night, like velvet black skies illuminated by a _Lumos_ spell. From the moment her tongue touched the tear, her face shifted to that of wonder and, dare he even think it, _amazement._

"You came for me," she whispered, her hands returning to cup his cheeks. She was on her toes, and he found that he was bending his knees; not to kiss her but to keep her feet level on the ground. She had spent too long in the clouds, too long high above him. _Let her body stay firmly anchored to the earth, to me._

"I… I did," he choked out, unprepared for the onslaught of emotions that hit him like a sledgehammer. Who was this woman to him? And who was he to her? He thought he'd known, had a clear view, distinct answers, yet now it was as if the slate was clean and blank.

"Severus. Severus Snape." Her voice was clear and concise, and as she spoke his name with the strong thread of awareness layering with the softness, her fingers began to trace the harsh lines on his face, even more jarring now after his daily vigils at her bedside.

"Hermione," he returned slowly, brokenly. "Hermione Gr-"

"No." Her fingers covered his lips and she scowled. He almost laughed at the expression that was so like the wife he'd had in the early days, until she said, "Hermione _Snape,_ " and all thoughts that were rushing through his mind stopped.

"Hermione Snape," he repeated as if stupefied, growing almost nauseas from foreign feelings that were attempting to squeeze through his body. They were suffocating, overwhelming, and yet when she bit her lip and _smiled,_ they, whatever the blasted feelings were called, pushed out of the dam gates.

"Say it," she ordered gingerly, almost like she was unsure of her welcome. Perplexed, Severus spread his hands in the tiny space between their bodies.

"Say wh-" He started, then cut himself off. He should have been cautious, should have been more controlled, for this, whatever it was, would _never_ last for a man such as he, yet he mumbled it painfully anyway, "…Sweetheart."

"Oh, _god,_ Severus –" She launched herself forward and into his embrace, her arms winding around him and fingers clutching to the back of the navy button down shirt that he'd thrown on in his haste to get to her. "I thought – I thought I'd never get back!"

"You're here, you're here," he chanted in a low murmur, retreating into the safety of being her carer, her supporter. Anything was better than losing himself to a woman that would leave him soon enough.

"What do you remember?" he asked carefully when her sobs subsided and only sniffling could be heard. In practiced movements, he moved his hands up and down her spine in an experienced effort to calm her.

He was dumbfounded at her answer. "Nothing, oh god, nothing at all," she whispered, burrowing into the nape of his neck. "I can't remember anything except for _you_."

…

Hours later at a more respectable time, he left the room and his now sleeping wife for a moment and ducked into a quiet stairwell. He raised his wand and intoned the spell, picturing the moment he'd first stepped foot onto platform nine and three quarters, the memory he had used for years.

The doe did not form.

After three more tries and only getting a wisp of silvery smoke in return, Severus swore and instead left a message with Lavender to inform Poppy (who could reach Hermione's parents while he was otherwise engaged) and Harry Potter of the awakening of Hermione Granger.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The world owes me nothing  
and we owe each other the world.  
I do it because it's the least I can do  
I do it because I learned it from you  
I do it just because I want to.

 _Ani DiFranco_

* * *

"No matter what she says, it is _highly_ unlikely that-"

"Is it?" Poppy pressed, adjusting her glasses as she leaned forward in one of the green plastic chairs that were set around a small white table. Severus' long limbs were attempting to box themselves into the chair opposite her in the tiny room that made up the Janus Thickney Ward's tea room.

Severus huffed and gave a sullen, inelegant shrug.

Poppy continued with a slight smile softening her generally stern face. "You visited her once or twice a day, every day, for three years, Severus. She remembers Ms. Brown, yes?"

"Yes, but-"

"And she remembers her mother, yes?"

"There were some issues initially, but yes-"

"But she does not remember the last visit of Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley."

Severus spread his hands, aware that his voice was rising somewhat but powerless to stop it. It had been a bloody long day, and he was ready to go home. "That's my point! She's constructed her own fairy tale of a reality, where she was the princess and the beast visited her out of the goodness of his heart." He paused to scoff and rubbed his forehead tiredly. "The Weasleys visited once a week, three weeks out of four. She should remember those visits, Poppy, but she doesn't. All she remembers is that they-"Again, another pause, this time for Severus to wince uncomfortably, "- _kissed_ at some point during the last battle. At her request, no one else has been to see her today – they're all aware of course, but for now Ms. Brown is fending them off."

"And her parents?"

He sighed and slumped down in the chair. "Their flight is due in late tomorrow evening. Apparently they preferred to bring more luggage than the Floo would allow."

"Good heavens," Poppy exclaimed, reaching over the table to pat his arm. "They're not staying at Hogwarts are they?"

"Thank Merlin for small graces," he replied and shook his head. "No; she never did sell their house, so they'll return… Helen mentioned that they wish for Hermione to-"

"She didn't!"

"It's the best choice, I suppose…" Severus trailed off. Surely it was? At best, Hermione could be considered a strange form of a friend for all that she was his wife, but while they had shared conversations in the past – some heated, some bland and some that he'd even say were invigorating and pleasant – he was under no impression that she would return to Hogwarts. "It would be… _bizarre_ for her to return to that room in the tower. Why should she? I'm certainly not entertaining the idea that Minerva will allow her to stay on as my _wife._ "

"She might," Poppy muttered, taking a bite of one of the biscuits from the stasis controlled plate. "You never know. She almost had a heart attack when I told her about Hermione – that's why I was late in coming; I had to monitor her for a while. Went as white as the Grey Lady."

"Yes, well," he grumbled, "I'm sure she'll be around soon enough now that her favourite cub has awoken."

"And what will Hermione have to say about that, Severus?" Poppy narrowed her eyes. "Or might I be right in assuming that you are set to stroll down the path of self-sacrifice and _not_ tell your wife about the way our beloved Headmistress has been treating you? I notice that you haven't said anything about her reaction to the lack of visits from her so-called best friends."

"I don't have to defend my decisions to you," Severus returned dully, aware that by his following words, he was doing just that. "She can judge their intentions for herself if they choose to reveal the information. I'm not getting between them – she asked about them only minutes after ascertaining that she hadn't, in fact, dreamed up my continued presence over the years. I am well aware that she is not _me,_ Poppy; I am more than capable of living alone, _she_ is not. Especially after all that has happened. She should be surrounded by-"

"Her husband!" Poppy interjected, ignoring his long suffering groan.

"I'm not her bloody husband, Poppy! Even this-" he brandished his hand, "-this ring, it means nothing! I've only… I've only kept it on because she's kept hers on!" He looked down at the silver band and twisted it around his finger. When Hermione had first been hospitalised, the skin under the ring had been rubbed raw from the oft repeated movement. Now, there was simply one more callus that gave evidence to those long, sleepless weeks. _Of course they were sleepless – I had a responsibility to her; anyone else would have been there for her in the same way, if she had been given to another man._

Steeling himself, Severus stood and drew his robes closely around his body. Now that she was awake, he took a small amount of comfort from being able to use the black wool as one last defence; she would have seen him without them only a handful of times, and never once without his frock coat. He was retreating back into his sterner, taciturn ways, yet it felt that that was his only option. What else was he to do? Run in there and announce that he was the knight to her princess? She had terrible luck, if that was the case. Not only was he almost twice her age, but he was a man forced on her to boot. Scoffing again, he made for the door.

"I am all she has for the time being, Poppy," he addressed his closest friend, brushing off how her brow pinched. "When her parents are here, she can…"

Poppy marched around the table and prodded his buttoned up chest with a firm finger. "You will give her the choice if she wants to stay with you or not, Minerva be damned. She is still your wife, whether such a thing is on paper or not. You do not detest her presence, I trust?"

"Of course not!" he exclaimed, disarmed for a moment at the notion. "Of course I bloody don't! I-" He cut himself off abruptly and scowled. Whatever he'd been about to blurt out seemed ridiculous in the cold light of day, and he decided then to think no more on it. Even the idea of it made him shiver in self-disgust, and he curled his lip at the repulsive, lecherous sod that he would've been seen as if he completed the sentence: _I do not detest her presence, but rather the absolute opposite!_ It might have even been… pleasant to know that she was there, her books strewn around the room as she doctored his tea while she waited for him to come back from - no. That was better left unsaid. He was nothing to her, and she (he could be completely honest with this, as it was true) was only the hint of what he could have had but never would. It wasn't even really about _her_ ; oh, he found her lovely enough, but he already knew very well that there were no universes in which young, intelligent, comely witches deigned to lower themselves to stubborn, poor, and greasy haired gits.

"You what?" Poppy asked, that annoying, secretive smile half back on her lips.

Severus let the scowl turn into a glower and then bent closer to her to hiss, "Nothing at all. It is what it is, Poppy. Enough."

"Keep telling yourself that and maybe it will come true," she shot back in a low whisper as he rolled his eyes and stalked out of the room with a short wave of his hand in farewell.

…

The anger blew out of him in a sigh of resignation when he noticed that the lights inside Hermione's room were on. He'd left her sleeping; she'd been asleep all day after the happenings overnight. They had only spoken briefly after she'd flung herself into his stunned embrace, though he understood that he represented safety to her, for now, and he could give her that, at least. Not long after the Healers had been able to confirm that she was indeed cured for the most part (she would continue to be prone to forgetfulness and anxiety, and would never regain any memories lost since entering the coma after the final bout of _crucio_ , but for all intents and purposes, Lavender had all but finished writing up the discharge papers).

Pausing outside long enough to determine that she was pacing, Severus knocked on the door once and entered after her muffled assent.

He watched as she walked around the width of the room and back, clad in her usual jeans and Weasley jumper, though this one was navy blue with a white otter on the chest. It was older than the rest, probably made about six months into her hospital stay when she had already been reduced to her birdlike thinness. It still fit her well, and Severus was glad of it; seeing his wife in this way, harried and tiny, was easier than if she were the assertive, pink cheeked woman that he'd married in '97 – at least this way, there were no soft curves to her body that he had to ignore. It drew a bold line in the sand, between the wife she'd been, and the free woman she now could be.

"You don't have to knock, you know," her clear voice interrupted his musings and he looked at her face properly now, bowing his head in greeting.

"Good evening," he said hesitantly from his spot at the door, choosing not to address the comment about knocking in the hope of avoiding any conversation about boundaries when his headache seemed like dwarves had taken hammers to his skull.

She was standing near the desk, holding her hands together. "You don't have to knock," she repeated, more firmly. "I know… I know that you were here, Severus. I know that you came to visit me as much as you could."

He shrugged, not voicing more than a careful, "Yes."

Hermione gestured impatiently for him to move further into the room, and so he turned to close the door then sat on the couch. "What can I…" he started, then huffed, unsure of himself in this new awkward environment that seemed to fester and grow with each intake of breath.

Thankfully, she took on the lack of hint and sat at the far end of the couch. She was almost prim in how straight she kept her posture, and he recognised the frown as one of determination. Hermione had always been stiff and rigid when thinking furiously; if not for the hospital room and her gauntness, they might have been in his quarters with a pot of tea while debating one thing or another.

The silence being thrown back and forth was uncomfortable, and he was on edge while he waited, until finally she opened her mouth to speak her thoughts.

The first question had him flummoxed, and he blinked. "Pardon?"

She offered him a small, timid smile and repeated herself. "Have you been sleeping here?"

"No," he said slowly, dragging out the vowel. "I still… I still have the same quarters in the dungeons."

"And you've been sleeping there?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

"Oh?"

Her head fell against the back of the couch and she sighed. "I keep remembering things; little things, mostly. It was just like one big dream, for lack of a better word." He nodded again and turned on his side, bending one leg at the knee in a gesture to encourage her to keep speaking. It was a curious thing, to hear her talk of the days when he'd been on tenterhooks during each visit, wondering where her mind would be from one day to the next. He could recognise that he _did_ care about it, about her, and so he quickly poured them both steaming cups of tea then returned to her on the couch.

"Go on."

Her smile looked purely grateful, and his chest felt tight, the bones protecting fragile organs now too brittle. How was he to take on this… this gratitude? This pity? No doubt she would pity him; all of the days that he'd visited, the time that he'd spent… How could he make her see that he'd needed it, too? Gods, in the relative privacy of the closed off room, he knew that he _still_ needed it. She had been an unexpected boon in the whirlwind of shite that was his life in the last years of the war, and he'd be lying to himself if he said that he no longer wanted to know the peace that came from sitting beside his wife, speaking softly, listening to her conclusions and ideas. Of all people, Severus did not want her pity. To tell the truth, he simply desired for her to understand that the safe place of throwing himself into protecting others was more natural to him than even contemplating the concept of leaving her to experience her three years of hell alone.

"Well," she began eventually, after a long sip of tea, "I can remember everything before the last battle, which you know. The Manor… the Manor is a bit sketchy, naturally-"

"Naturally," he put in dryly, glad that she knew him well enough to feel at ease with that one word that really meant: _Gods above, woman, I'd kill the lot of them with my bare hands if I had any inkling of what the bitch was going to put you through._

"Glad you agree," she teased, her posture softening. There was no telling who moved closer on the couch, though somehow they were soon both facing one another, knees touching. An amusing sight with him in his black, never ending robes and her in such innocent attire. Beauty and the beast, without a doubt, he realised grimly.

"Continue," he ordered gently.

"Hmm, well…. I know everything that happened before I saw Bellatrix in the corridor. But I cannot remember the-the last lot o-of the cruciatus, nor can I remember being asleep for so long in here… All that I have of almost _three ruddy years-_ "

"Don't talk of it," he said immediately, reaching for her in an unconscious and familiar extension of his arm that brought her closer to his side. She tucked herself into a tiny folding of legs and arms, then leaned against the side of his body. The warmth of her was pure and beautiful, even more so now that she was truly cognizant. "Don't even think of it."

He could do this; the easy, natural caring. He'd done it for three years – a little longer wouldn't hurt.

"You're right, of course," she mumbled thickly. He kept his gaze on the ceiling, not once looking down though his shoulder was growing damp.

Hermione sniffed then cleared her throat. "Everything feels like… like… as if I needed glasses before and now I've got them on, and everything is _crystal clear._ Like I was in the clouds before, looking down on what was happening. When I… When I'd lose track of things, there was a part of me that was so frustrated because I should have _known_ all of those things! I _did_ know them! And I can't even recall now, just what I was like. All I know is that I saw Lavender every day… and I saw you, and mum came in every now and then. Though I don't know… oh god, Severus, it's just so _terrible,_ because I don't know what's happening with dad, and why I can't remember his visits, and I don't know why I can't remember Harry or Ron visiting, nor any of the Professors, or just… anyone from my life at all. Just mum, Lavender, and you."

"I can help with some of those things," Severus offered, having already worked out exactly what he was about to say. "If you wish for me to be the one that-"

"Who else?" she said, her voice close to shrill, nigh on hysterical. "Who else can I ask? Who else can I remember? No one!"

Her smaller hands scrubbed roughly at her face until he pulled them away, bearing her frustrated cry and ignoring how she struggled in his grasp.

"Stop it, Hermione," he said sternly. "For now, everyone is fine. Your father is in good health – he visited every day for three months, and now he comes when he can get time away from the practice he works in. Yes, in, not owns. We-you didn't sell the house, and real estate in Sydney isn't cheap. And your friends and professors… everyone is fine. Everyone is waiting to know when they can come storming back in here, annoying me with their presence like they used to so… so often. Don't cry, wife; don't cry. Don't you remember what I have always told you?"

The effect wasn't instantaneous, but somehow she calmed enough to allow him to ease his grip on her arms. He eased the pressure slowly, searching for a way to distract himself from the guilt of not being completely honest – her father was in Sydney, yes, but her mother's obsession with Hermione's illness had caused a wedge between the two that he wasn't sure was even being replaced. It was not his place to tell their daughter though. No – Helen could do that. As for her friends… Severus found that he didn't even care. He wasn't bitter enough to complain about them, and she was too fragile to be told right away. Let it happen on its own time.

Finally she muttered, "It is what it is."

"Yes," he said simply. "And this is who you are, for now. That is who you were. It is done. To appease my theatrical side… it is over."

She snorted and elbowed him gently in the side. "Good god, Severus Snape has a theatrical side? To think of all those nights we wasted simply talking, when I could've learned more about all of _that_ instead."

"Tell anyone and I shall be forced to silence you, Madam Snape," he quipped, rolling his shoulders when she eased away from his hold.

"That's another thing we need to discuss, amongst the mountain of elephants charging around the room," she said directly, staring at him with her lips pressed firmly together.

Exhaling, he tilted his head to the side. "Would you like me to…" His restless left leg made itself known while he searched for the words. "They cancelled the Law. All it'd take would just be one more signed document, and you'd… you'd be free of me. I don't have it here, but I confess that I ordered the forms-"

"But w _hy?_ " she cried, hands coming up to cover her gasp. He flinched, and drew away from her in surprise.

"Why what, Hermione? Surely you want-"

"No!"

 _"_ _No?"_

"That is… unless you want… Severus, do you want to divorce me?"

 _What on earth?_

He stammered, taken aback by the question and her pleading eyes. He didn't have the first idea of what she wanted. It wasn't that it made no difference to him… it did – for some reason that he couldn't put his finger on, he wasn't even opposed to staying married to her. Perhaps because it wasn't even a marriage in the first place, which was why she should be running away the first chance she had! He was content with knowing there was someone on the earth who didn't _have_ to put up with him, just simply enjoyed his company. But Hermione… She was twenty one, now, and a woman like her… _She should be worshipped by a man of her choosing. And that man has never, ever been me._

"Hermione, this whole thing," he looked away and gestured between them, "this whole _marriage_ was forced on you. _I_ was forced on you. Don't you want to-"

"I'm not asking myself what I want, Severus. What do _you_ want?"

"I…" He groaned and tugged on the ends of a handful of black inky hair, exasperated at his utter lack of verbosity. "I don't know, all right?"

She harrumphed and stood up with her arms crossed over her chest. "Well, good!"

"Eh?" He echoed her movement and stayed a few paces away so he wouldn't tower over her. "What do you mean, 'good'?"

"Good, because we're on the same page!" she explained, beginning to pace again, her hands flying around in the air. "I don't know what I want, either! All I know is that you're safe, Severus. You're who I remember, and you're my _husband._ Even if that might mean other things than the usual usage of the word, you _are._ And I don't…. I'm not in a hurry to change that. I want… I want things to go back to how they were, so we can start making decisions. I suppose that I'm asking for you to help me again, Severus," she finished quietly, coming to stand before him, her bottom lip caught in her teeth. "Help me, until we can decide what we want to do together. There's no rush, is there?"

He was still shocked enough to only be able to dumbly shake his head and say, "No, Hermione. There's no rush."

…

He stumbled home in the early hours of the morning, mind reeling and heart pounding. This tiny little woman, this spitfire and all around witch, had made him feel more wanted, more needed, than barely any other time in his life. That she thought that the two of them together could somehow make good decisions was… astounding, to say the least. There was a lot to organise and a lot to plan, if they really were to stay married for the time being, as she wished. But he'd think on that after her parents made their automatic objections. If his wife still wished for it after all of that, then he could easily find the stones to push against Minerva's walls just enough to have her bend to his will in this.

A small thought wormed its way into his head as he downed a headache potion and peeled off his clothes before heading to the shower: that his quarters, usually a haven of silence and calm, felt _lonely._

He did not put any weight to stopping and working out why.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Enough is enough, if we stay, we'll never leave

You know I'd go with you anywhere

Just get me out of here.

 _Birds of Tokyo_

* * *

 _1997_

He could have fled. The soft sounds of her feet descending the stairs from her room in the tower gave him time enough to do so, but he was spoiling for a fight. Not with her, of course; no, never with her – trusting, innocent as she was – but with _anyone._

The room was dark, with only one or two candles providing enough light to see a few feet in front of him. Her Lumos spell was harsh to his tired eyes, and Severus hissed in discomfort as he rubbed his forehead.

"End the spell," he demanded hoarsely, shielding his eyes. When she didn't, he raised his voice, "Damn it all, woman, _end the spell!"_

It was the first time he had named her for her true gender and not her girlhood. She gave a small gasp of surprise from somewhere across the room, reacting more to the harshness of his tone than his actual choice of words, and again they were left in darkness. But he could hear her breathing, and the sound of her fingers fumbling for the furniture so she could guide herself across the room.

"What do you want?" he questioned her wearily, letting his head fall against the wingback chair. The fire had gone out hours ago and it was cold enough now for his fingertips to feel like appendages of ice. He was too tired to care, though, and his wife was often as warm as he was freezing; she appeared like a wraith in front of him, her mass of curls and kinks pulled back and a puzzled frown pinching her features.

"You're cold," she stated slowly, and he noticed that she only wore a knee length white cotton night gown; no matter, he could be cold for both of them.

"An astute observation," he managed to say.

"Severus…" She inched closer, and then bent down until they were face to face. A small sniff in from her nostrils told him what conclusion she'd already drawn; he should've felt annoyed, should have felt pissed that she'd take such liberties when there was nothing between them at all. But here was his wife in his face, attempting to work out if he was drunk.

"Have you been drinking?" she asked eventually, drawing back slightly, bemused at the lack of scent.

He cocked an eyebrow and snorted. "I have not had a drink since we married," he said dryly. "I am not drunk."

"Oh." She shifted on her feet. Severus could almost see the cogs turning. "Why?"

"Because you are in my care," he explained gruffly. "You might well be… whatever you are, but if you think you'll find me half blind when there's a student upstairs that has access to my private quarters, then you'd be completely incorrect."

Hermione scowled but a wide smile broke through almost immediately. Severus thought back to when she was the polite, careful girl that he'd married just three months before; the change should've made him disconcerted, but instead it gave him relief, gave him something to concentrate on instead of his blinding headache.

"Severus?" She knelt down in front of him. His eyes were closed despite the darkness of the room, and he felt, rather than saw, her small, warm hands closing over his knees. "Are you all right? Tell me why you get such headaches. I only saw you just a few hours ago, you said you had a meeting with the Headmaster… surely that did not give you such a migraine? Isn't there something I can get for you, anything at all that I can do?"

He waved a hand in the air. "Headache potions only work for so long… they just dull it, now. Besides, this headache- ah." Severus cut himself off and shrugged. "It'd be a waste of your time, Hermione. Go back upstairs."

There were not enough galleons in the world for him to sit and have this conversation, not that money had ever held sway over him anyway. Once a poor sod, always a poor sod, except his clothes fit him better these days. Occluding might have worked, but after utilising the walls all night while having to sit through Albus' increasingly worrying rantings and ravings, it held no attraction now.

And he'd also forgotten just who he was married to. She studied him for a minute, like he was an equation that needed finishing. It wasn't unpleasant, but there were things that she could not know and this was certainly one of them. He searched for something to dangle in order to put her off the scent.

"What headache? Finish the sentence," Hermione pressed. "At least let me – oh, I'm not even going to ask. Stay there."

"Does it look like I'll be moving anytime soon?" he grumbled, then said to her retreating form, "The idea is to have peace and quiet, wife. I am well aware that such things are difficult for you, but if you would just – ah. Oh." He sighed with relief. "All right, fine. Stay."

Hermione snickered quietly from behind the chair and moved the damp cloth over his forehead with one hand, while her other fingers threaded through his hair and pressed down firmly onto his scalp. A charm kept the cool material from dripping onto his face, and he felt the wash of her magic over him as a warming charm found its way through his clothes and heated the pale, ice cold skin underneath.

Severus sighed again, a deep one straight from his chest. Gods, the feel of her magic… it wasn't just the heat it brought, but it was so deceptively light, so feminine, that he almost believed that there wasn't a wild haired woman tending to him. It was easy to trick himself into thinking that the fingers were long and fair instead of shorter and carrying the hue of skin that turned golden in the sunlight, instead of pink. The witch behind him would be taller, thinner in a more angular way, and her hair would look as if aflame when caught in the bright midday sun. But then she'd be a calculating woman, and not the inviting presence that seemed to envelope him as he sat in the room, the shivers subsiding.

"Why don't the usual potions work?" The voice, more sharper and honest than the beguiling murmur of Lily, brought him back to the present and he sucked in an audible breath. He hadn't even realised when he'd started woolgathering, and it was enough to tell him that he needed to get away, sooner rather than later.

"Because such headaches are wrought from almost constant Occluding," he explained eventually, ignoring the way her ministrations stilled. "Maintaining mental defences can be taxing at the best of times, and excruciating at the worst depending on how long they are left for. Holding strong defences for hours at a time is a recipe for a bloody painful headache. Does that answer your question?"

"You know it doesn't," she hurled back in a voice that he'd heard used on her 'boys' a number of times over the years. It always heralded a lecture, and if he wasn't mistaken, Hermione ruddy Snape was about to give him a talking to. In any other circumstances they would've been in for quite a row, but as it was, he didn't even have the energy to raise a hand to stop her.

"For starters, you shouldn't be Occluding so much! There's no one save Dumbledore who could even have enough talent to make you do it so heavily, at least while we're within this castle. And if that's the reason for your headache, that you spent tonight in a meeting with the Headmaster and needed to put up iron walls as strong as those you would use for You-Know-Who, then I think there's something you're not telling me."

"Ah." He chuckled darkly, sarcastically. "There are many things that I do not tell you. Do not presume that just because you might share my last name – not that it is anything to write home about anyway – that you now have some sort of _right_ to the knowledge that I carry! And furthermore," he added loudly, "it is my own damn business!"

"Oh leave off," she muttered, letting the wet cloth fall into his lap and scoffing when he yelped as it came into contact with his groin. The robes had fallen open at some point, and having a cold cloth on his wool covered crotch was not his idea of a pleasant sensation. Both of her hands now dug into his scalp and he groaned in twisted pleasure as they pressed against his temples to the point of pain. It did the job, but he was loath to admit it.

"I've a bone to pick with you, Severus Snape, husband of mine," she snapped. "And it's not that you have secrets, although that does piss me off to no end. But whatever – keep them if that's what you want. What I _do_ wish to say is that I am bloody well proud of your last name. Don't laugh at that. Do you think I'm _not_ proud to share your name? Well, I am! I had to get married under this stupid law, but I'm telling you now that if I could have chosen any man anyway, it would've been you! And you can bugger off if you think that I should be pitied by others just because I am Hermione _Snape._ It _is_ something to write home about, and I'll tell you something: I _did_ write home about it! I wrote a four page letter to my parents just before they had to leave, telling them that the Ministry was full of wankers who wanted to take us back into the Dark Ages, but that I was safe and as happy as I could be in this situation, because I managed to marry _the best man that I ever would anyway!_ Now take this bloody cloth and put it on your forehead so that we can combine coolness and pressure, _husband._ "

Dumbfounded, Severus' limbs obeyed her before his brain could even think up a snarky comment. She was proud to be married to him? Him, of all men?

"Bloody hell," he muttered, naturally disbelieving. "Someone's put you under a spell."

"Only one of your own making," she shot back, then spluttered and coughed.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"Right," he drawled, disregarding the offhand comment and relaxing into her touch. So far, there had barely been any inconveniences that came with being married – if he was under an illusion that a real marriage would be like this, then he would've looked into it years ago. Not that he had been on his own for all of these years by choice… Maybe if he survived this thing, he could try and find an older woman like his current wife who'd surely cut the leash as soon as she was able to.

 _Now that's an interesting thought. When did I begin to consider being with a woman so like my own wife? When did she become the standard of which to compare others to?_

"Hmm?" He turned his head to the side, having missed her hesitant question. "What?"

"I asked if you, erm…' She sounded as if she was navigating a tactical nightmare of a question. "Have you ever been married before?"

The pain began to hammer in his head again, although this time it was inspired by a completely different emotion: amusement. He barked out a laugh, then found himself truly chuckling; if he had any belly at all, it would've been quivering from the effort.

"Good heavens," he exclaimed and turned to look at her quickly then began to laugh again at her shocked expression. "Christ, Granger. No! When would I have had the time, I ask you? Unless you've got the idea that teachers go off gallivanting on secret rendezvouses when you're all tucked up in bed?"

He was surprised that she could even speak through the bright red blush that stained her cheeks, but she offered a simple, "I guess not."

"I apologise," he said at once. "It wasn't my intention to belittle you, but… oh sod it, it really was – I know you've read all of the staff profiles in the library, and you will have seen how blank mine is, so why would you ask such a thing?"

"I thought you might've intentionally not told anyone, understandable of course, and I was curious," she replied, attempting to be indifferent though he could see through it as clearly as if she was in front of him, not behind him, still massaging his temples and scalp. For a fleeting moment, he thought to tell her to stop – it couldn't be a nice feeling, working her fingers through his greasy hair. But then she pressed more firmly again, and in turn he was lost to the touch.

It lulled him into speech, and like he had evaded her while talking about the meeting with Dumbledore – which really had been a crock of shite – he offered her as many truths as he could. "I have never been married. You are the only woman who has ever shared my name and quarters."

"Oh." The sound was flat, yet still intrigued. "Have you ever… no, no – sorry, it's none of my business."

"Ask it," he ordered quietly – he could predict the question, but for some strange reason he still wanted her to ask it. Besides, this was a clean slate, was it not? Dumbledore still held him to the same promise he'd made years ago now, and here was a chance to have _someone_ know so that when it all came out after his inevitable death, there would be someone to understand what the reality of it all really was.

"Have you ever… Have you ever been in love before, Severus?"

There it was. He sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose. It still pained him to really think on it, to offer his soul up for such self-examination as to know the true answer to the question. And she shouldn't feel comfortable asking him such a thing either, though he was far too tired to properly object. The dead of night often invited all sorts of enquiries that would have otherwise stayed hidden away.

"Impertinent woman. I don't know," he replied honestly, and then pragmatism took over. "Probably not. It felt like it, at the time. But the young are prone to…" He shrugged. "Young people your age…" He tilted his head back, not enough to really see her but obviously enough to get his point across. He still did not wish for her to really define herself as his wife; given his task that was creeping up on them and coming ever closer, it would only make it that much harder if she achieved the impossible and began to actually _like_ him. "I was young," he said shortly. "That is the grand total of it all."

"Mmm," she sounded out, mulling over his words. "One thing – think what you like, Severus, but you are still young. I don't know how you've gotten it into your head that you're prehistoric-"

"Your words, not mine," he snorted. "And by young, I meant-"

"I know what you meant." Her fingers sunk into his shoulders for a moment, and he froze as they smoothed over his biceps. It seemed innocent, but she was too silent, too unsure. And it felt… _oh,_ _shite. No. Not this…_

"Hermione," Severus said sternly. She removed her hands from him entirely, ending the impromptu assistance for his headache.

"Right," she mumbled. "Sorry. It's late, so I'm off to Bedfordshire. Sorry again. Night."

"Goodnight," he returned in an attempt to be polite, but his puzzled gaze followed the young woman as she hurried to the door on the other side of the room then all but scampered up the stairs.

He blew out a breath and felt his shoulders drop when the lock on her door clicked. If he didn't know better, he'd curl his lip and plot against such emotional fuckwittage, but when he shoveled around in his mind, upending shelves and moving through the marshes that were his everyday thoughts, he registered that it didn't particularly bother him. He prodded and poked at the layer where he hid his old feelings for Lily and, curiously, he couldn't even find enough energy to conjure up some tokenistic guilt.

All he felt was the same grim determination, and the same sadness that he'd always carried for the woman who had once been his friend, and who'd died too young to even begin to construct a more adult mentality that might've made her see sense and forgive him for a youthful mistake.

It was such a waste.

 _Such a lovely, lovely waste._

...

 _2001_

"Absolutely not!"

"Mum!"

"What? Do you think that I'm about to _let_ you-"

"I'm twenty one! I'm not asking for your approval! I'm _informing you-_ "

"Helen, perhaps we ought to sit down and talk-"

"Shut up, Richard! Hermione, love, listen – it's been an awful time for you, I recognise that-"

"And _I_ recognise all that you've done, I know you've been here as much as possible, and I know that you've supported me in the best way that you know how. But, mum, I just want to be home again!"

 _Bloody hell – what? 'Home'?_

Severus almost let out a groan when Helen rounded on him and shoved an accusing index finger in his face. "You're orchestrating this! You were supposed to let her go, Snape! The Law's over and she's all but cured now – where are the ruddy divorce papers?"

"Helen!" Richard placed a cautioning hand on the older woman's arm but she shook it off, glaring at Severus. He still hadn't moved from his spot on the couch, having decided not to enter into this conversation at all unless it was absolutely necessary. But with the way Hermione was blinking and gesturing to him, he was supposed to _champion_ his spouse in this. No bloody way. It was as flummoxing to Severus as it was to her parents, after all. He would bring her back to live with him because it was what she wanted; that didn't stop him from thinking that she was making the wrong choice. All of her friends were long gone from Hogwarts; there was only him, and Merlin knew what sort of support Hermione thought that _he_ could give. And he didn't even know exactly why he was agreeing to it in the first place.

"It's her decision," he drawled in the end, ensuring that his voice was deathly quiet, the type that always made his students respond when they were being particularly stupid. He could understand Helen's concern – in truth, he'd long been aware that she wanted Hermione to stay with them. Helen had always mentioned it, and he'd never expected that his wife would choose otherwise. But she seemed to _want_ to stay with him; thought that his quarters and her little room in the tower were _home._ After her horrid almost-year on the run, he could understand why she'd have attached herself to the dungeons over her dorm room for example, but for god's sake, wasn't she supposed to want to be with her parents?

But with the way she was watching them, he began to see that perhaps she had been carrying suspicions about her mother and father since regaining some of her sketchy memories. It wasn't hard to miss for Severus, but he was used to reading people; Helen and Richard had presented a united front upon reaching Hermione's room, yet Richard was quieter than how he'd been in the very early days, and Helen was more accusing, more quick to find and place blame. They were two very different people now compared to who he'd first met a decade ago when delivering Hermione's Hogwarts letter with a few grunts and gruff explanations, assuming he'd never see the pair again.

Oh, how wrong he was.

And yet, it didn't feel as he thought it would – he'd readied his shields to clamp down on any sickening reactions, any self-accusatory threads that his mind would naturally chew on, and mostly because he was not the man that took on everyone's shite anymore. But there hadn't been a need for it; funnily enough, whenever Helen growled and shouted, he'd taken one look at Hermione's upset features and his indignation had turned swiftly into concern for his wife. Now _that_ was unanticipated. It wasn't new - no, not new at all. It wasn't even entirely unwelcome.

All of that kicked into overdrive when Minerva sodding McGonagall strolled her way in, with tearful _cuddles_ for the Grangers and his young wife. No one seemed to notice that her smile when she turned to him was stiff and triumphant, but he bloody well did, and he found his voice only minutes later.

"No," he enunciated slowly when Helen attempted to bring the Headmistress into the conversation. Minerva scoffed, breaking her façade for just a moment, and Severus felt a rush of righteous anger when Hermione arched an eyebrow and pursed her lips at him from behind her old Professor's back, as if to say: _what on earth is the old bat doing?_ It almost felt as if he and his wife were a team, united against those who wished to part them. He really should've prepared himself for the onslaught of possessive sentiments that hurtled towards him.

 _Oh well._

"My wife will be returning to live with me, as is her right. She has made her choice, and you can all either accept her wishes or pack up and go home. _If,_ " he held up a hand for silence when Helen screeched, "you desire to see her, as you are more than welcome to, then it would behoove you lot to _shut up_ and leave her be."

If Hermione had any Legilimency skills at all, he would've blatantly invited her into his mind just so that he could tell her to wipe the adoring look off her face. It didn't help their cause in the slightest, as Minerva took one look at it and gagged.

" _Professor Snape,"_ she warbled, "there are no provisions for spouses of teachers staying at the castle! Miss Granger's-"

"Madam Snape!" Hermione corrected her shrilly, making Severus cover his mouth to hide a completely uncharacteristic hoot of laughter. He looked at his wife and smiled slightly as he tried to convey the warmth that was slowly spreading through his veins at the sight of her, the little spitfire, chomping at the bit just to make sure everyone knew what her name was.

"Fine, Madam Snape!" McGonagall acceded ungracefully. "But my decree stands!"

"Actually, it does not," Severus put in gleefully. He really should've stopped and thought about what he was about to do, but seeing Minerva like this was goading him to no end. "That was part of the deal of me even being able to marry _Madam_ Snape, after all. Albus informed me ever so kindly that it is allowed for staff members to live offsite at Hogsmeade if their familial circumstances call for it. It seems, Headmistress, that mine do."

"Hogsmeade!" It came as a shout from a trio of stunned adults, though his wife did utter a little gasp of pleasure. He filed that away in his mind to examine it when he finally found some bloody peace and quiet.

"Yes, Hogsmeade," he repeated.

"You haven't even got enough money for a house other than that dump at Sp-"

"I don't believe that my finances are any of your business, Minerva," he growled. "Nevertheless, I _do_ happen to have the rights-"

 _Poppy – your old holiday home is finally going to have some use._

"- to a cottage just outside the village. So, if anyone wishes to see us, that is where we shall be."

...

"That was bloody brilliant!" Hermione crowed in a low undertone as he led her out to the Apparation point, her shrunken bags in his left coat pocket. "Thank you, Severus! Really – thank you."

"Yes, well," he said awkwardly, taking her arm and readying them for the turn that would take them to Hogsmeade. "I'm afraid the place is a little old and dusty – it hasn't been used since… well, since Poppy bought it due to assuming she'd ever have time to stay in it. And, ah, there's… It's quite small, see, and-"

"No tower for me?" she supplied, her fingers pressing down until he felt their warmth under all of the layers of wool.

"No. No tower. Just the main bedroom. I'll take the spare."

"I think that's all right… what do _you_ think?"

He looked down at his wife, aware of his ungainly, gangly height compared to the assured way she held herself. It wasn't as if anyone saw how tightly she was holding onto him, after all. But he did. He knew. He grinned for a moment, suddenly feeling as if she were his partner in some form of crime.

"I'm sure I can suffer through your presence."

Her peal of laughter went straight to somewhere that he suspected could be his heart, and he wore a look of a deer caught in the headlights all the way from the hospital until they landed outside a tiny white stone cottage with a thatched roof, looking for all intents and purposes as if it were in the middle of nowhere.


	8. Chapter 8

_Severus, Severus, quite incongruous, how do your feelings grow?_

 _Shall we say a one-shot to the 300_ _th_ _reviewer? Yes? Good._

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

Though you may disappear,

you're not forgotten here.

And I will say to you,

I will do what I can do.

 _Peter Gabriel_

* * *

It was awkward; there really was no other way to describe their situation.

They stood in the living room of the cottage at the far end of one of the village's last lanes, and looked about. Severus tried not to wince at the barely concealed dismay on Hermione's face. It was tempting to leave her to it and return to his comfortable quarters in the dungeons, but he hadn't spent years under Albus Dumbledore's deranged rule for nothing. Not that he had survived out of a determination that would've cleaned the cottage like a creature unto itself; despite some of his more memorable outbursts, he was at heart a calm, methodical man. Serving under the old Headmaster was the right (for even though it was unpleasant, it was still preferable to the other nutter) thing to do, and so he did it and directed his complaints to the bottom of a bottle of Ogden's once in a while.

He still couldn't quite answer just why he had blurted out the idea that they live together here; he wasn't a masochist, despite the evidence to the contrary, and he wasn't keen on torturing himself with staying for long enough to form an attachment to his wife. But she was counting on him, and he did not wish to fail her. Not after everything that she had been through. Besides, it wasn't as if he had other women beating down his door, begging to share his living spaces and frown at them over morning coffees. Not that that was truly a reason to decline… he would be being dishonest if he allowed himself to even think that that was really why. Even if he couldn't quite put his finger on what truly made him stay, he knew that it was because of that.

Linking his hands behind his back, Severus cleared his throat. "It isn't much, but-"

"Not much?" Hermione echoed, and for the first time she turned to him with a smile that seemed out of place in the dusty sitting room just out of the entryway. There was no furniture, and the windowsills were filled with caked on dust. Poppy had eclectic tastes, and he really should have taken down the Frida Kahlo curtains before even letting his wife put one dainty foot over the threshold. He almost shuddered when he remembered that the main bedroom had a burnt orange shag rug covering most of the floor. That and the lime green bathroom upstairs that they'd have to share, considering it had the only shower, was a recipe for a disaster of a house. Bloody Poppy bloody Pomfrey. _Thank you, Poppy._

"Why, Severus," she breathed, pausing to cover her mouth and cough from the dust in the air, shooting him an apologetic grimace in the process, "it's positively wonderful!"

"Positively wonderful?" he repeated disbelievingly.

 _Gods, I've missed her unnatural optimism._ The thought struck him like a bludger to the head and before he could rein it in, he was staring at her with an uncharacteristic look of surprise on his face. She seemed new to him somehow – the shoulder length sprawling hair was the same of course, if only shorter, and those bright eyes had lit many a dark night in his last year before becoming Headmaster, but surely this welcoming, shy smile was not all for him? She was almost criminally lovely, so soft and gentle looking. Not typically pretty, but striking – the sort of beauty that a blind, dunderheaded fool might not appreciate, but Severus, with his discerning, attentive eye, most definitely could. And he knew that in the coming months, she would become even more comely when the fleshier curves returned to her birdlike body.

In that moment, he wanted her to hold his head to her naked chest and stroke his hair as if he were her lover. His mind was a cruel mistress, and taunted him with how her skin might taste if he were to turn his head while she cradled his head of black ink, and run his tongue along the undersides of her breasts. Would she carry the tang of salt and sweat, or the sweet, sharp note of perfume that had been daringly dabbed there? That frangipani oil, the one she always used – would the scent of it cling to areolas coloured like the roses in his Potioneer's garden? Not that he even knew what shade of colour the sensitive peaks would be…

The idea created a bitter, sour taste in his mouth; why couldn't he have someone like her? He had her on paper, yes, but why couldn't there have been no law, and instead just a woman coming to him because she wanted to? He wanted her to comfort him, as he had comforted her. Yet he didn't want such things because of gratitude, as would undoubtedly be the case. Severus had absolutely no desire to accept pity, even if it was doled out with misguided affection.

 _Such is life,_ he mused, then returned his concentration back to Hermione who was moving through the room, gesturing with her hands as she spoke excitedly.

"It really is! Look, we can fit all of our…" _Ours? When did they become ours?_ "…bookcases, and I'm sure I can transfigure more shelves above the fireplace. Your reading chair can go here, and the couch can go right about here. And if you really think we need one, maybe we can sacrifice that lovely rosewood buffet hutch you have for your Muggle first editions, and put in a dining t- no, no. That look says it all. Thank god. We can eat on our laps anyway. Can I see the kitchen?"

Speech was impossible. He waved a stunned hand back to the entryway and led her down the short hallway to a small, pokey kitchen at the back of the house. The cupboards were reminiscent of Spinner's End, what with half of them falling off at the hinges, and missing handles with the odd bit of water damage here and there. If there ever was anything that gave evidence for teachers not being on the million galleon salaries that some of the public assumed they had, it was this. Hogwarts was opulent, yes, but the extravagance was used as an incentive. Trust the Ministry to believe that those responsible for crafting the minds of young witches and wizards didn't need a salary to match such a responsibility. Still, it was a stable position, and came with house elves. It could have been worse.

French style doors led out from the kitchen into a small courtyard, and he could still see hints of when Poppy had tried to get a garden started around the borders of it. Hermione seemed even more enthusiastic at seeing the dry old thorny bushes, so there was that, he supposed. She had more ideas about remodeling, and when they looked into the tiny almost-cupboard that was the downstairs loo, she only shrugged and grinned again.

Silently, he trailed after her as she bounded up the stairs and let out a peal of laughter at the gods awful main bedroom, then made an "Oh!" of sympathy when they discovered the size of the second bedroom. Severus had to hunch his shoulders just to walk around the room without bashing his head on the ceiling.

"No matter," he said simply. "I'm sure a spell or two can sort it."

"I doubt it, given the age of the place…" Hermione gestured towards the main bedroom, an unspoken question present with the way she raised one tentative eyebrow.

"No, no," he said immediately, gruffly. "I would prefer… this." There was a small part of him that was intrigued at the idea of properly sharing a bedroom with a woman for the first time in his life, but he shoved that firmly underneath his shields. No; let her have her space. If anyone needed time to heal after the disastrous time of the last three years, it was his wife.

She might've looked disappointed, but then she turned to explore the rest of the second level, and he thought it seemed more like a trick of the light shining in from the newly curtain-less room.

…

He was loath to leave her, but what else was he supposed to do? Poppy had taken over his first class by lecturing on healing potions to the third years, and Longbottom –

"I can't believe you let Neville take one of your second year classes! And to speak about rare ingredients, to boot! There's so much that we have to talk about, Severus. I want to hear about all of it."

"I'll only say this once, but he has an outstanding talent for Herbology."

"Good heavens. And… and how are his parents? I feel awful for not asking while we were still at the hospital."

"We have more work to do in their case, I'm afraid. They have improved with the treatment, though they are now as you were. A drastic change, to be sure, but there is much more to look into. And do not think on it. He, of all people, understands."

"And you'll assist with the research for the new treatment?"

"Of course. It was his help that led to your cure. How could I not?"

"Indeed. You're a good man, Severus. The best."

"If you say so, wife."

…

"Are you _sure_?" he asked for the third time, crossing his arms and scowling, attempting to convey that he was ruddy well worried about her, not that he knew how to actually say such a thing. "I can call… I can call…" _Who? Who is there to even ask?_ "I'll get Poppy to come 'round," he decided eventually. "She can tell you what work has actually been done, and what jobs we should start with first. I can get started when I come back from the castle this evening. The plumbing is functional at least, but there isn't any hot water. I'll bring Argus over tonight to sort that out, and I'll set up an account under your name with the stores in the village if you need anything today."

"An account? Have you received a raise, Severus?" Hermione asked sharply, cocking an eyebrow with that look he pretended was effective but had always found enticing.

"I have enough-"

She cut him off with a softly spoken, "Turns out an Order of Merlin pays out a fair bit, as I'm sure you know. I can pay my way until we work out what I can do…"

 _Right, of course it does._ He'd forgotten that those with a First Class were treated to a substantial amount in a special Gringotts account. Not that he would ever mention that his Second Class had only given him a pouch of galleons that were all spent on fitting out her hospital room. He stayed silent and only turned his head to the side. Taking the hint, Hermione spoke again.

"Do you think Poppy'll mind? I can owl – oh, we don't have an owl yet, do we? Never mind, I can walk into the village and get a message to Ron and Harry to pop over?"

Willing his face to stay blank, Severus shrugged. "If you'd like, but… Poppy won't mind. She's been wanting to see you, anyway. She'll make the time." And if he saw the red haired Weasley idiot even close to the property, he knew he wouldn't be able to trust his wand not to take aim. There would be no calming older brothers or a bustling Molly to keep the boy in line, and how could he trust Potter when he had turned a blind eye to the freckled wanker's actions in the first place? Gits, the both of them. Potter less so, which seemed quite a traitorous thought, but it was true nonetheless. Still – he had no wish to see either of them.

"Poppy will come," he repeated. "And if you feel like a walk, it might be a good idea to find an owl for the house. And a… familiar for you, if you'd like. Something that can stay until your beast of a cat clears customs, and survive living with him afterwards." He left Hermione standing in the main bedroom, nodding her approval with a dazed smile, and descended the stairs to the kitchen. He really didn't exactly need privacy to send the message to Poppy, but if he got it wrong again then-

"Bugger it all," he swore, slashing an angry stroke of his wand through the failed Patronus. For the life of him, he could not work out why on earth the doe wouldn't form. Yet again, a silvery mist emerged from his wand. It seemed to have a life of its own, and the strands looked like they would form something for a moment, but then it dissipated as soon as he narrowed his eyes to examine what it could've been. Frustrated, he scuffed his boot on the ground and huffed. The memory that had served him for literally over twenty years was now not good enough? Not bloody likely. He could ask around, of course… but until Minerva came to her senses, he had no desire to publicise a chink in his armour. He'd leave the cottage immediately, and speak to Poppy just before the NEWT classes that he needed to return for.

"I'll send Poppy, she'll bring lunch for you," he called up the stairs, staying at the foot of them long enough to hear a reply floating down.

"All right! That'd be nice. Are you… Do you think…" He thought he heard a tiny, "Bloody hell, Hermione, get it out!" and he chuckled quietly. Finally she said, "Are you going to be home for dinner or do you have to eat at the castle?"

"I… ah…" Surprised, he thought quickly, trying to remember what Albus had said about such things… That was it! "I am able to return here. Two meals out of three should be spent at the castle; I was already excused from breakfast and I'll be back there in time to sit in for the last few minutes of lunch. But wife, we haven't even got anything to cook with-"

"I'll sort it! Don't worry about anything. See you when you come home."

"Home…" he said faintly, staring at the staircase. Home… Had he ever had one? And now she thought that this was it? With her? A home with Hermione, his very own wife and he her husband to return home to her after work? Good lord. He couldn't even chase the racing thoughts down in his mind to work out just how he felt about that. But comfort was there.

Yes. Comfort was very much there.

"Yes… well… right," he offered in way of unskilled confirmation, and quickly made his way to the door.


	9. Chapter 9

_Pay attention to this chapter; something is revealed here that won't be detailed for a few more chapters. Blink and you'll miss it. And, also, the story begins to earn its M rating as of this chapter. If there are any mistakes in this, forgive me – my eyesight has announced that it is buggered for the moment, and I will blame that ;-)_

 _Who will be the 300_ _th_ _reviewer? I don't mind re guest or logged in reviewer, but please, **if you don't have an account, create one and tell me what it is so we can message each other.** Otherwise there is no way for me to get in touch with you. I'm watching the review count as best I can, but if I miss it, please let me know. If you'd like an example, 'Hour Follows Hour' and 'One Thousand and One Nights' were both written as gifts for readers of other stories._

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

With your hands on my shoulders  
A meaningless movement  
A movie script ending  
And the patrons are leaving, leaving  
 _Death Cab for Cutie_

* * *

Severus was a patient man, though even that in itself was an understatement. A lifetime of waiting, first for Hogwarts and then for Lily, then for forgiveness and afterwards redemption, for the end of the war and then for Hermione… He was well practiced in understanding when something was hopeless or helpless, worth waiting for or worth forgetting. True, such lessons had taken years and much pain before they were taken on, but he liked to believe now that he was perceptive enough to not be surprised by many things.

The evening found him shrinking a set of essays together and carefully easing them into his right coat pocket. A wave of his hand extinguished the candles in his office, and he tapped his wand on the door as he left to reset the wards. He was eager to return to his wife; having chewed on the thought for most of the afternoon, he was no longer unsettled by the idea that he wished simply to see her, and not just to check up on her. It was the calm before the storm; her parents would more than likely visit tomorrow, and the Weasleys would no doubt come this week. Potter, too, though Severus decided not to look for a damn to give tonight.

It would be advantageous to establish a Floo connection to the cottage at some point in time, he mused as he began the walk up towards the Entrance Hall, but it might just be better to leave it. He preferred the short night time walk to the cottage; it almost seemed closer to the castle than it was to the village, given its position on the very outskirts.

Apparating was also an option, but not something he wished to advertise. Technically, he still retained many privileges from his short stint as Headmaster and could be at work and back in a flash if he so desired. Still, there was time for that, when Minerva eventually came around.

Severus was inclined to think that the moment would come sooner, rather than later, when he came upon Argus standing at the closed doors with the Headmistress looking thoughtful at his side. They were an amusing pair – the drawn, shabby man and the woman who often had a broomstick lodged far up her backside but still managed to shock everyone by having a laugh with the caretaker now and then.

"Headmistress, Argus," Severus greeted them both, inclining his head as he fastened a thicker cloak around his shoulders.

"Good evening, Severus," Minerva replied delicately. "Is there a particular reason you wish to encroach on Argus' time?"

He opened his mouth to issue a stern rebuke, intending to tell her that it was none of her damn business, when Argus blew his nose and chortled.

"Now see 'ere, 'eadmistress, s'nothing you need to know about. 'Tis a man's lot to take care of 'is woman, and sometimes only a Squib knows just what t' do, eh?"

"You say 'lot' like it is a burden," Minerva sniffed, glancing over at Severus as if to ascertain whether the black haired wizard shared such a sentiment with the caretaker.

Barely restraining himself from rolling his eyes, Severus couldn't stop a sneer as he drawled, "The cottage requires some… work, and I intend to ensure that it is done so that my _wife_ can live comfortably. Good evening to you, Headmistress. Argus?"

"Right, right," Filch agreed, nodding quickly and shuffling out into the night, leaving the Headmistress and the Professor standing awkwardly at the door.

"You're going to fix the place up, are you?" she clarified in a determinedly bland voice. "Make it comfortable for her? Safe?"

Severus stayed silent, leaving it to her to put the pieces together. He was not in the mood to offer her some honey tongued excuse, yet nor was he about to offer up that he wanted to sort out the hot water so that his wife could have a warm bath before bed. None of her ruddy business, indeed. The only thing that stopped him from scowling at her was that the Headmistress would more than likely be on speaking terms with Hermione's mother, and he, for the moment anyway, certainly wasn't – one old harpy at his throat was better than two.

She nodded slowly, though it was obvious that she didn't agree. Going against his expectations, she motioned for him to leave, the permission for borrowing Argus being silently granted.

"Well, don't let me stop you then," Minerva grumbled. He raised both eyebrows this time and looked at her, but she waved him away briskly as if he were a thirteen year old student again. "Go on now, off with you. And for goodness sake, Apparate with Argus, will you? Spare a thought for his joints, it is uncommonly chilly outside."

She left in a whirl of flowing forest green robes, and Severus shook his head, bemused, when he heard the ghost of a wet sounding sniff reach his ears from the direction that she'd departed in.

"About bloody time," he muttered to himself, and threw open the doors before jogging down the steps and striding off into the darkness, robes and cloak billowing around his body as he headed to the gates where the anti-Apparation wards ended.

"Argus! Come here you old goat; take my arm."

…

With the combination of his wand and Filch's considerable expertise, the plumbing was sorted within an hour or two. All the main work had been outside to the pipes feeding the cottage; Argus had even managed to rig them so they connected to a second, larger pipe much lower down which, it turned out, supplied the castle. The wolfish grin of the caretaker took years off of his face and Severus, too, sported a smirk as he thought of the never ending hot water supply. As it was a staff cottage, the usage would be free to compensate him for having to live off-site but that was usually within Hogsmeade's supply – the castle's was infinitely better and would save him from submitting an application to the Ministry to have usage of the village's water approved. For once, Albus' planning had managed to cover absolutely everything, the barmy sod. Their only main expenses would be actually sorting out the interior of the cottage itself, and food.

He hadn't been inside the house yet, only stopping to poke his head in and announce their presence to Hermione, and she'd come out soon after with a smile for Argus. The two men worked under a cover of almost constant warming charms, courtesy of his wife, though a smell piqued the interest of both when the work was over.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you had a Hogwarts feast in there," Argus said, jerking his chin towards the cottage. All of the lights were on, bathing the front paved courtyard in a warm glow. He couldn't see Hermione – she had disappeared when he'd pushed up his sleeves and tied his hair back to get stuck into the work in earnest, her cheeks blazing red though he couldn't quite work out why. Perhaps it had been a good thing, for Argus pointed out that there were streaks of grit from the work underground on his arms and cheeks that not even a charm would get out properly. She must have left to save him the embarrassment of appearing as sweat and dirt covered as he was.

There were faint sounds coming from the kitchen, though, and he narrowed his eyes, suspicious. A deep breath in and out gave him time to prepare his words; it had been years since he'd done such physical work, and it showed.

"She shouldn't be-" he began, then cut himself off. He was still an intensely private man. Argus seemed to catch on, and brushed away some excess dust from his overalls.

"I'm off, then," the caretaker said, then looked behind Severus, a surprised half smile on his gnarled face. He bobbed his head and said shyly to the ground, "Evening, Madam Snape. Many thanks for yer charms."

Turning, Severus was about to shake his head in amusement but instead his mouth opened slightly, unprepared to see Hermione freshly showered, looking far too lovely standing in the doorway with the light shining around her. She wore a soft looking deep blue long sleeve top, and black pants instead of jeans. Her hair was clipped partly back.

Oh, she was beautiful indeed.

Finally focusing enough to see that she was holding something, he stepped to the side, giving her adequate space to approach Filch. She passed him slowly, her eyes running over his figure still damp with sweat, and he berated himself for having discarded his robes and frock coat earlier. In his shirtsleeves, he must've looked a fright.

"Thank you, Mr. Filch," Hermione said kindly, extending her arm out to display the plastic bag hanging from her thin wrist with some form of package inside. "I'm sorry we've kept you from dinner – you'll like this, I think." She looked back at Severus and tilted her head, a faint smile on her lips. "Molly Weasley's finest," she explained in a quieter voice, like she'd known that he had been concerned about her cooking when she was only just getting used to regularly using her magic again. It wasn't as if she could cook anyway – his wife could burn water, though he wasn't much better. "It was sent over just before you two got here. There's…" she grinned sheepishly, and he found himself short of breath. "There's enough to feed a small army in the fridge, now."

Argus mumbled something to do with kindness and thanks, but Severus wasn't really listening. As he had been in the morning, he felt struck dumb by the appearance of his wife. Hermione's gaze turned from Filch to him again, and her kind smile changed to puzzled, giving him the incentive to get a grip of himself. He nodded shortly.

"I'll take you to the gates, Argus," he said, offering the man his arm and walking them out to the tiny fence that bordered the cottage. "It's the least I can do. And," he lowered his voice, "there might be a bottle of something on your desk. Don't say a word."

"Oh no," the caretaker snickered. "You won't 'ear naught from me, Professor." There was a leer in there somewhere but Severus ignored it, knowing that the older man was as socially inept as he was. It took only a few seconds to have them in front of the castle and clap the man on the back, before he was back in front of his wife again.

"I should…" He looked down at his clothes. "I should take a shower."

"Of course," she breathed. "It'll be nice a-and hot now." When she stumbled over the word, her eyes again drifted to his bare arms. They flexed automatically as he clenched his fists, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. He knew he was thin, built almost like a greyhound, though at least he was healthier looking than he had been when they'd first married. And then, leaving him flabbergasted, her pink tongue darted out and wet her lips, moistening first the upper then the lower. He tried ever so hard not to track the movement with his sharp eyes but it was no use. He swallowed, and she stepped back, her cheeks flushed.

 _Control yourself, man, and occlude for goodness sake. You'll scare the poor girl half to death, you lecherous fool._ With that thought, Severus gave a gruff assent to her comment about the shower, and made his way into the house.

…

The bathroom was sparkling clean, but it was warm and filled with steam from Hermione's earlier shower. She must have spent the afternoon while waiting for Poppy cleaning; he wished that she hadn't, he would've done it, but he knew she could manage the _scourgify_ charm and so he made a note to thank her later instead.

He quickly abandoned his initial plan to only take a short wash; the water was heavenly on his sore muscles, washing away the uncomfortable aches as well as the grime and sweat. There were new bottles on the rack that hung from the showerhead; pink, purple and red things that he'd never seen before in his life. Looking around the room through the now sparkling clean glass screen, he scoffed at himself for even checking his surroundings, so unused was he to living with someone else in such close quarters. Sharing a bathroom with a woman was a novel experience; his mother, for example, had been in and out in minutes to save on the water bills, and there'd been one bar of soap and one grey can of shaving cream in the corner for years. Even in his own bathroom in the dungeons, he'd preferred a minimalist approach and used shampoo made using his own cauldrons, and natural soap bars over Muggle concoctions.

Now, he was faced with the dilemma of either not using soap and thus risking a bad odor from not being able to wash thoroughly (he hadn't brought anything with him) or he could use one of Hermione's bottles. Curious, he picked up the red one and accidentally swallowed some of the water trickling down when he read that it was a warming body wash, scented with roses and peaches. Good grief. The next was some sort of conditioner – _no thank you_ – and, thank the man upstairs that must have been listening, at last he rummaged around and found a shampoo.

Abandoning the need to analyse the ingredients, he massaged it into his scalp thoroughly, almost purring as the suds cleaned the sweat that had stuck to the back of his neck. But one breath in with his nose was enough to send him cursing his treacherous body as he felt the blood rushing to his growing erection, the organ responding to the sweet note of frangipanis that now clung to the strands of his black hair. It smelled like _her,_ just like his wife, just like the oil that she used on her fair, soft looking skin.

He rinsed it out immediately but the wave of desire came upon him so suddenly that he groaned softly and turned to place his palms against the side of the stall so the water would cascade down his back instead. _No, no, no._ He had no business feeling these things. The need for relief was almost painful – his hand strayed downwards and his offending penis was rigid to the touch, but his hand returned to his other while he filled his mind with thoughts of _anything_ else. Anything at all.

 _And yet, she did kiss you…_ It was almost his undoing. He moaned, glad for the steady drumming of the water to cover the sound as he remembered the feel of her lips, how her body had fit so well against his if only for one second. He'd never forgotten it despite the years that had passed – _could_ never forget it – and it was so tempting to reach down and stroke himself with the memory of her, tasting so sweet, the way her tongue had traced his lips before slipping into his waiting mouth-

 _Enough!_

Enough, enough, enough. He was panting now, at war with himself. She had been afraid, so utterly _terrified,_ that one small kiss really didn't count - how could it really, when it had happened so quickly that if it wasn't for viewing it in a pensieve over and over again in the weeks afterwards, he would've lost just how it felt to have his wife kissing him.

It had never been repeated, and she had been so quiet straight after, leaving in the blink of an eye. She must've forgotten it by now after everything that had happened. No, no. He had no right to think such things about her. She had made a mistake; it was glaringly obvious, and he would ignore the urges of his body.

 _But she might not mind…_ the whisper was just a passing thought, but the frustration and confusion that it inspired in him made it easy for him to locate an innocent looking bottle of shower gel at the end of the mountain of products – forest fragrance, thank Merlin – and scrub his body clean before resolutely turning off the water.

He emerged from the shower and waved a hand at the mirror, staring at himself as the steam from it cleared immediately. With a disgusted snort, he rubbed the towel then tied it firmly around his hips, opened the door and, after checking to make sure she was nowhere near, strode quickly into his bedroom. Poppy had taken over a bag of his most used clothes, and he fished out a clean pair of trousers with a black shirt –

"For _fuck's_ sake!" he growled when the back of his head smacked the ceiling with a dull thud. Not one to swear if he could help it, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, calling out a vague answer to Hermione's muffled call to see if he was all right.

He needed to get it together. They were husband and wife, yes, but they were friends.

 _Unless she wants –_ no. Clamping down on any more thoughts, he let the door close firmly shut behind him as he made his way down to dinner.

"Are you- oh!" Hermione squeaked with surprise when he stalked into the room and he stopped, chastened. In his determination to rid himself of the _almost_ all consuming desire, he'd forgotten how hesitant, how timid she could be at times; she was rarely completely sure of herself around him, and of course his blustering entry had done nothing to help it.

"Sorry," he barked gruffly, then rubbed the back of his neck in an uncharacteristic gesture of uncertainty. "The hot water works," he said lamely.

"Yes," she agreed with a smile. She had been standing in the middle of the dusty room, surveying it with a considering eye. "Shall we go upstairs?"

"Upstairs? Why?"

"Well…" Hermione looked around and returned to meet his gaze, one thin eyebrow arched. "There's nowhere to sit. St Mungo's brought over my bedroom furniture when you were out, and that small couch came with it. And I haven't gotten around to-"

"Oh, don't," he objected immediately, holding up a hand. "I'll bring a house-elf over for a few days." Heading off her small frown, he continued with, "The elf I had when I was Headmaster has been… disappointed with the lack of work now that I have returned to the simpler quarters in the dungeons. She'd love to come over for a day or two. And you're not a housekeeper, wife. The whole point of this exercise is to work out what your future holds, is it not?"

She looked at him then down at the floor. "Yes, I suppose it is."

"Right." He went into the brown and yellow kitchen and found two containers sitting on the bench along with a vase full of lilacs. Figuring that Poppy must've brought them, he inspected the petals and found them to be of a quality almost like – _give it a rest, man_.

One quick flick of his wand removed the stasis charm, and the scent of Molly's steaming lasagne had his mouth watering. He returned to the bare sitting room with a container in each hand and followed Hermione up the stairs, avoiding the temptation to watch how her hips swayed naturally as she climbed.

"Have a look," she said shyly. "Poppy and I did it up this afternoon."

And with that, he entered the bedroom behind her, and sat down in the room of white provincial furniture and lilac overtones, finding peace in the familiar setting.

After she took the first bite, he gathered his wits and said, "Tell me what you have decided thus far, wife."


	10. Chapter 10

_Forgive me for my uncharacteristic absence! Blame me catching my husband's man flu. Sniffle. I know we've all missed Lavender and Poppy; more from them in chapter 11. Anything you recognise belongs to JK, as per usual. I don't think there are any direct quotes in here considering my memory for proper canon is shot to shite but I might've stumbled on the correct words in a miracle. A bit of poetry to start with instead of music today. Let me introduce you to my favourite poet._

* * *

 **Chapter 10**

It surprised me  
as I sat on my suitcase  
waiting for the train of days  
I forgot the days  
I traveled with you  
to the land of wonder

 _Nizar Qabbani_

* * *

 _1997_

With his head cradled in his hands, Severus flinched when the door to his office slammed shut. He had tried yet again to speak to the boy, but Draco would have none of it. Seething with frustration and inconvenient teenage hormones, there had not even been time for Severus to get a word in before Draco scowled and mumbled something unintelligible while fleeing the room.

He was out of time. He knew it, somewhere deep within his heart; soon, he would need to do the task that he was bound to do. There was no choice in it at all, yet every inch of him save for his ever present blank mask was repulsed by the deed his wand must perform. Severus was no seer, he had no gift of foresight, but he could _feel_ the atmosphere changing. Whereas in the months before he had been constantly teetering on the brink of madness, sure that if the _Avada_ didn't destroy his soul, the damn waiting would. Now, he wished more than anything that he could return to those days. Even the very day that he took the Unbreakable Vow that niggled in the back of his mind, an ever present reminder; even _that_ day was easier to deal with than this precipice.

The nights were long. Initially, he had waited for Hermione to finish studying at the library, staying in the office until she returned and bid him goodnight to be safely in her room until morning. Last week, he had made a decision for her, for the first time in their marriage. He'd told her that she was to return to his office immediately following the evening meal, that he would tutor her and lend her books if need be, but that she was not to be out in the corridors. Of course she had seen through his cover, and he'd ended up sitting next to her on the couch, unnerved by her proximity as she leant against his side and voiced her fears that _something_ was coming.

She was right.

But she hadn't known that that something was _him._

"Severus?"

Startled, he looked up to see Hermione in the doorway that Draco had just stormed out of. She had a stack of books in her arms and that beaded bag that really was ridiculous but looked just right on his wife as she stood staring at him, concern for him all over her face. He could recognise it now, could see that she did care about him though such a young woman of innocence, of goodness, would never come to know just how her presence now felt like sun warming his too pale face.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes," he said instantly. "Yes. And you?" The sarcastic drawl of 'never better' had been on the tip of his tongue, but it tasted too stale to use on her.

She closed the door firmly then walked into the room, setting her bag and books down on the end of his desk before coming around to where he was seated. Perching against the edge, she folded her arms and looked down at him. He leaned back, wanting to see her better but unsure of how to receive her now, like this, so close and _real._

"I saw Draco," she articulated slowly, watching his reaction. Having expected the unvoiced question, he merely inclined his head. Hermione let out a breath. "He didn't seem… well. To say that he looked unhappy is beyond stupid; he looked as if he had the world on his shoulders. Like you, in a way, but he couldn't keep holding it up."

He nodded again, aware of the small flick of pride he'd noticed when his wife had referred to the methodical way he shouldered his responsibilities. "A kind observation." And it was, really. She was too kind, too forgiving, especially to the youngest Malfoy prat.

Perhaps not. She would never forgive _him,_ after all.

A quick smile spread her lips momentarily, but they tightened again in concern. "You look tired."

His first reaction was to sneer and turn away, his usual practice upon receiving comments about his appearance. But she placed a light hand on his arm, the unfamiliar touch jerking him back to her.

"I didn't mean it like that," she explained quickly. "I just… well, I've been… ah. Have you been sleeping at _all_?"

"No," he replied unthinkingly, honestly. She'd drawn it out of him as easily as she'd lulled him into accepting the continued hold she kept on his forearm.

As if unconsciously, her thumb began moving in slow circles over the sleeve of his coat; there was still another layer of a grey button up shirt beneath it, yet he felt it as if she was branding his bare skin. It was his left arm, and whether she knew it or not, Hermione was attempting to soothe him over the blackened mark of ink that no woman had touched in almost twenty years. Unbidden, his head tipped back against the chair and he closed his eyes, his tense fists relaxing on top of the desk. He thought that he should stop this, this… whatever it was, but in the silence of the room, he could no more bring himself to order her away than he could admit what he was truly going to do.

"Severus?"

He hummed and kept his eyes closed as he waited. She was still so close… with every shift of her body, the smell of her hair and skin washed over him. There was nothing even remotely sexual about their tableau; it was peace. _He_ was at peace.

For now.

"What do you want to do? When all of this is over, I mean?"

He pretended to think about it, taking his time. And then words came rushing out anyway. "I want to get away from here. I'm tired of this castle, of these… obligations."

There was a sharp intake of breath. "Oh. Do you mean…?"

"No, no. You're not an obligation, Hermione. Not anymore." That was certainly true. He didn't know what she was, but she was no requirement, no box to be ticked. Now, she was only his… companion, of sorts.

"Well… good. You're not to me, either."

There was a hint of a smile on his lips when he said, "And what do you wish to do, wife?"

A rustle of clothing indicated her slow shrug. "Save the world, one research project at a time. But I'll probably be a pen pusher."

He barked out a laugh before he could rein it in, and he opened his eyes to see her grinning shyly down at him. His lids fluttered shut again when she picked up his hand and laid it in her lap, flipping it to run her fingers over his wrist and palm.

"That would be a crime," he remarked. "You'd be wasted with the bureaucrats. You're too good for them. For any of them." _And for me._

"I'm going to write that down," she said between throaty breaths of laughter. "It might just be the nicest thing you've ever said to me. Thank you."

"You're thanking me for acknowledging your true worth? Hm. Stranger things have happened, I suppose."

"They have indeed. Us, for example." Her hand paused in its strokes on his skin as she no doubt gestured between them. He let out the breath he hated himself for holding when she returned to his palm. "This is strange, don't you think?"

"Obviously," he drawled, chuckling under his breath when she giggled.

"But we're good together, you and I," she continued, making him freeze. "I've seen some of the other girls – no better than a lapdog to some pureblood bastard. I mean, there are some men who are doing what you've done for me, but I've been doing some listening, and-"

"Listening?" he commented, unable to help himself. "My, my, has Madam Snape been _eavesdropping?_ "

A haughty sniff filled the air. "If you must call it that. Then yes, yes I have. Trust you to make it so I don't end up giving you another compliment. I know that's what you're doing, you know. Making me keep my distance."

His eyes flew open and they stared at each other for a long moment. The office suddenly seemed too small, the ceiling too low, the walls closing in much too fast as she threaded her fingers through his, until she was holding his hand. He looked down at their hands, noticing that his own fingers had clamped down on hers with a fierce grip – _how had that happened?_

He didn't exactly know who had bent down and who had pushed their body up, but when the fire in the office flared a bright green to signal an incoming Floo call, Hermione's startled eyes were much closer than they had been before. Nodding his head awkwardly in a gruff farewell, he stood abruptly and jerked his free hand to the door to her tower. She took the hint, and her fingers slid out from his hold before she hurried away.

He flexed his fingers, feeling her absence keenly.

…

The wards that protected Hogwarts were strong, filled with ancient magic that thrummed to the touch. To a less exacting wizard, the change that night would have gone unnoticed but as it were, Severus tensed the moment he felt a strange sinking, almost groaning sense in the stone that surrounded him. Like a ship slowly beginning its descent to icy cold waters underneath, it was a slipping feeling – the signal that black hearts were slithering their way into the castle.

"Death Eaters! Death Eaters in the castle, Severus!"

Flitwick burst into the room and it took Severus a mere moment to stand and hurl the stunning spell through the air. There was no time for the older wizard to even register the movement – he thanked the gods for small graces; at least he didn't have to look down to see a frozen expression of shock and disgust.

It could have been much worse, for with the door open, he heard the approaching anxious voice of his wife – _fuck all Hermione, I told you to stay inside at night! –_ along with the smooth, dream-like voice of Luna Lovegood. Taking a moment to gather his thoughts so he looked calm and in control, not like the nervous, shit scared wreck that he was, he wiped both hands over his face.

When they fell to his sides, his face was a careful mask of nothingness.

"Severus!" Hermione's voice was shrill, urgent. "Severus, there are Death Ea- Oh!"

The two girls skidded into the room, stopping when they caught sight of Flitwick on the floor. "He fainted," Severus barked. "Stay with him until he wakes."

"Of c-course!" Her agreement came swiftly and she jumped over the body of his colleague to reach him. The disrespectful action might have angered him a long time ago, but it felt like a knife sliding into his chest when she grabbed his hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that the Lovegood girl turned away to look at the wall behind her.

"Be _careful,_ Severus, please!" Hermione begged, clutching onto his coat. He looked down at her fearful brown eyes and found himself nodding woodenly. "I'll come to you as soon as he's awake. I know I can't do much but – I'll f-fight with you, Severus. Wait for me! Don't do anything – don't–" She cut herself off, then blew out a breath. Before his gaze, she transformed into the lioness that he realised he cared for – very, very much. _Too late now_.

"You'll be safe," she said firmly, pulling with a strength he hadn't known she had until their faces were inches apart. "You _will_ be safe."

Oh, gods.

That he should come to care for her now, at the end… _Before this night is over, she will despise me. I will disgust her._

A lost cause, indeed.

He swallowed thickly and let his eyes roam over her face, drinking her in.

He was out of time.

The lie came quickly. "I will be safe," he echoed, a traitorous hand reaching up to cup her cheek as he turned her head down to press his lips to her forehead. It was easier to do it when he didn't have to look at her face. Turning her words around, he muttered, "Be safe, wife." One more firm press of his mouth to the top of her head was farewell enough – _I will never see her again_ \- and he turned and strode out of the room, ignoring her shocked cries of indignation when a wave of his wand slammed the door and locked her in.

…

 _2001_

A storm was brewing outside of the thin old walls of the cottage. It was to be the first night he had ever spent under its roof, and already it was not proving to be particularly pleasant.

His wand had repaired any holes and tears that he could see, and a general spell directed at the entire roof had sealed it off against the water that no doubt would've come in like a flood without the added protection. Hermione had been right; it was an older home, and there were some things that magic could not fix. Thus he lay in the single bed that he'd extended so his feet wouldn't hang off the end, and stared at the ceiling.

Not one to surround himself with unnecessary pomp, the bedroom was almost bare save for a wardrobe he'd brought in from his quarters in the castle. The bed was shoved up against the wall, just under the window. It had become a habit of his to lay his head where he could see the stars – a reminder that he was free, after all of the madness of the war. And so it wasn't so much the location that he found difficult, for a night outside of Hogwarts was always welcome these days, but he just could not sleep.

He'd spoken with his wife while they ate a dinner that was so delicious that it should've been illegal. Molly had worked her magic on their stomachs until Hermione was talking freely, if shyly (for Lavender had already hinted at it being months before his wife regained her sharp, bossy and all around endearing tones). He'd found himself responding to her almost like he had when they were first married, when they'd shared those first tentative nights by the fire with a teapot between them. She told him of her venture into Hogsmeade, how she'd sorted an owl and a little grey cat to join them after the Hogwarts elf that was due tomorrow morning was done with making the house more like a home than a construction site.

It was his first instinct to snort and shake his head in bemusement at the idea of a little tiny kitten roaming around his house, rubbing its cheek on his legs, probably making him trip his way up the stairs. But there was something on her face as he considered the idea, something that looked remarkably like hesitant hope, and he'd ended up nodding and hiding behind a curtain of hair so she wouldn't see his red hot cheeks. Just one day with her alone and already he was turning into a man that fed off of her pleasure, but when she looked at him as if he hung the moon, what was he to do?

It was rather nice, he decided.

As the rain began to fall heavier on the old, worn cottage, Severus pictured her face when he stood and bid her goodnight. Less used to hiding her emotions after the years of flashing between them with the speed of a wild fire, Hermione had looked at him with a wistful expression when he'd dithered for a bit in an attempt to work out whether he should kiss her cheek. He didn't, and instead painted himself the fool by offering her an idiotic half wave before leaving the room quickly, mortified.

He had so many questions! And not just for her – oh no, Hermione was not the only one who held the answers he sought. Half of his confusion was directed at himself. Why was he reacting to her like this? Like she was the flint and he the steel? After being so careful during her hospitalisation, sitting with her now made his attraction to her permeate the air around them. It surrounded him, threatened to engulf him and control him. And unlike his other hated Masters, he did not even attempt to fight it. It was so easy to slip into the haze of watching her mouth as he waited for her delectable pink tongue to swipe over her lips to moisten them, the way she always did after she made a particularly long winded point. And her hands! They waved around in the air, the fingers pointing in all different directions as she described everything from the weather on her walk into the village to the way the little kitten sniffed at her fingers before butting its head on her bended knee.

He didn't want to feel this way, but he reveled in it. Desiring her was such a change from tip-toeing around her that he clutched onto it, savoured it.

But what would it give him?

Nothing, he supposed. She'd mentioned while biting a nail – a new habit – that she wanted to throw herself into something. Not her NEWTs, not yet, as somehow she still kept the irrational fear that she wasn't ready for them. He knew that she could pass them even now, but refrained from saying so; this was about Hermione, about building her back up again. If she wanted to start reading again and ignore the world for a little while, then so be it.

He already had an idea on how he might entertain her intellectually. It'd just take one conversation with Neville, and they'd finally have a research assistant. Who better to assist with curing the Longbottoms than the woman who had suffered alongside them? It was a harder job than any other he had done – Frank and Alice had lived so long under their clouds, that bringing them out was like pulling teeth with tentacles that dug into gums of stone.

Still, it was an idea. Patience might see it bear fruit, and he could give her this, at least.

 _And if she is working with you, then she might not want to leave you…_

There was that, too.

The storm whipped around the house, and he was glad for once of his habit of not falling asleep until late. He enjoyed storms – enjoyed their tumultuousness, found comfort in the roaring background noise of rain and the ends of tree branches sliding along the window panes.

Though suddenly, he was all too aware of remembering that his wife did not.

Hermione's scream cut through the night, jolting him out of his pensive mood. He was out of bed before he even registered the movement, cursing his lack of clothing then tugging on the pants he'd discarded at the foot of the bed frame hours before.

Wrenching open the door, Severus stumbled down the short hallway, past their shared bathroom and to her door. Intending to raise his fist and knock, he disregarded the idea when he heard her whimpers and opened the door slowly so as not to frighten her.

"Hermione?" he called as he entered, taking in the wide bed in the middle of the room, the lilac rug on the floor that was in shadows, and the white dresser and desk in the corner. She was a dark figure huddled in the middle of the bed, rocking with arms around her knees.

"Hermione," he said softly again, unsure of himself but advancing to her all the same. "Hermione…"

She looked up and gave a soft little gasp of surprise, and then her lower lip trembled.

He was so very lost.

Crossing the rest of the distance in two strides, he sat beside her on the bed and pulled his weeping wife into his arms. "It's all right," he said, his voice close to a croon as he rocked her, feeling the salty tears on the bare skin of his chest. "It's all right. I'm here-" _Will she find comfort in that? –_ "I'm here. Don't cry, wife. Don't cry."

At the use of her title that he'd used innocently in the beginning, but then came to use as an endearment that tugged on his heart, she twisted until she was astride his lap, her arms thrown around him and her face finding a place in the crook of his neck. Still she shook, whimpering and saying nonsensical things that he couldn't understand.

He held her for many minutes that he didn't bother to count, rocking and whispering things that he hoped would soothe. This was easy, this comforting – but it felt different now. Now she would not throw a book at him and force him out of the door – he hoped, at least – and now, she would remember.

He didn't care.

"Don't cry, sweetheart."

When the tears eventually stilled, she stayed curled up in his arms, and it was only then that he was completely aware of holding her in his lap, her buttocks just inches away from his crotch, her hands moving on the skin of his back. She was dragging her fingernails softly, creeping them up and down his spine. He drew in a ragged breath and focused her quiet sniffs.

"All right?"

"Yes," she mumbled. He almost missed the whisper that followed. "I'm sorry."

"Why? Don't be sorry, wife," he said immediately, finally allowing his hands to hold her firmly to him, one on her hair and one on her lower back. "Don't be sorry. Please."

"I woke you."

He could hear the smile in his voice when he replied, "I was awake." But it left when he continued with, "Did you have a dream?"

It was hard to concentrate on anything at all when he looked down to see the creamy expanse of flesh exposed by her white cotton night gown. Severus purposefully slowed his breaths, tearing his gaze away from her thighs.

"I couldn't remember," she said simply. "There was nothing at all. Not even you."

The horror of it shocked him into silence. It was hard for him to even imagine the years of being trapped within her mind.

He could remember the first time he'd visited Frank and Alice with Poppy on a grey afternoon, many years ago. Seeing their blank, sometimes happy faces was unsettling – he could remember them a few years above him, moving through the school with a natural affinity for each other, something he'd only seen again with Molly and Arthur. Now they were mere shapes that hovered around the room, though he could recall Alice giving him the tag from a bag of tea.

Hermione had spent less time under the nerve destroying curse, and therefore her moments of comprehension were far greater than any true smile that might've come from Frank's face, only to be gone in the blink of an eye. Still… Severus had spent many nights wondering whether it would be more terrifying to be able to understand for minutes at a time, day after day, what was happening – a constant blackness would surely have been more friendlier on her soul? But that came from the thoughts of a ruthless man, and he still retained many aspects of that man that he had been, the one that had lived through two wars.

She sighed and rested her chin on his shoulder, the innocent move making her hips shift and with sudden clarity, he knew what it was to feel the heat between his wife's thighs for the first time, even covered with the thin cotton barrier that formed her underwear. He was enjoying the embrace – oh, he was – but everything was still so _new,_ so unexplained.

With regret, he eased her body off of his lap until he was seated with his back against the white headboard. He held out an encouraging arm, and she gave him that smile again, that wistful, almost sad smile, before placing her head on his chest.

As time ticked on, he thought she'd fallen asleep but a little chuckle came out of her mouth. "I always thought you slept in nightshirts."

He snorted and raised his eyebrows into the darkness. Just as he was about to make some remark about her assuming he was fifty years older than he actually was, something else entirely slipped out. "You thought about my sleeping attire?"

It was her turn to flush – he could feel her blush from the cheek that was on his chest. The warmth it created within him was indescribable.

"Shall we sleep?" she mumbled much later, still lying half over him. He made to leave the bed but she pulled him back down, settling back on his skin with an arm thrown over his waist. There was no room to decline the unspoken offer. Did he even want to?

"Goodnight, Severus." Her breath tickled the black hairs on his chest, and he suppressed a shiver of pleasure. The short, curly strands of her hair spread around her head, covering his upper body in chestnut silk.

No, he did not want to decline.

Not at all.

"Goodnight, Hermione."


	11. Chapter 11

_Something is happening to my review replies... I can't find record of my messages, but I could have sworn that I have replied like usual... err. No idea. So, if you have nothing back from me, forgive me! It's been swallowed up in the abyss of this website._

 _More Hermione in the next one, otherwise you would have been reading for yonks. Because I haven't said it in a while – thank you to the guests who leave feedback, you're all very kind. If you're stuck wanting things to do between now and the next chapter, might I suggest dawdling over to Deviant Art and having a squiz at all of the beautiful works with this fantastic pairing. My own Severus in this particular story, for example, can be pictured easily with the works by comfortablylaura. Forgive me for adjusting the below lyrics to suit my own devices._

* * *

 **Chapter 11**

The door it opened just a crack,

But love was shrewd and bold.

Never has my tormentor come in such a cunning disguise…

I let love in.

 _Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds_

* * *

Severus ran his finger around the rim of the coffee cup as he stared at the sweet, light brown liquid within it. He raised it to his lips slowly, taking the first sip of his regular milky morning beverage. That was one more good thing about the ending of the war, he had long ago decided – he had enough sleep now to doctor his coffee the way he really liked it. Two sugars and enough milk to make it warm and not blistering hot. Only strong, bitter coffee would cut it during his spying years - he'd had an entire shelf full of variations of the stuff and even now he still reached for the bag of Lebanese coffee that would have him awake long enough to complete tedious marking.

There was a gentle buzz of conversation in the Great Hall. Had it always been this quiet? He thought not initially, as he'd absolutely detested mornings during the war, blaming his daily headaches on the annoying cretins that laughed and threw their food around. There was something to be said for barely needing his Occlumency these days; not only had he not had a migraine in months, but he found that he could stand meals in the Hall. Either the children had matured (unlikely) or his hearing had worsened – both options didn't bother him in the slightest. It didn't enter into his mind that perhaps he was distracted, thinking of the warm, inviting bed that he had dragged himself out of that morning…

He took a long sip of coffee and set the cup down carefully to reach for a slice of toast. The movement was slow, calculated, and Severus frowned at the strangeness that felt almost like longing the more his hands reached around the table to feed his body.

He'd woken up that way, for the very first time in his life. Lying on his side, his head on a pillow that felt nigh on heavenly, he'd reached his arm out blindly then jolted awake with a silent cry of alarm when his fingers encountered warm flesh.

Upon opening his eyes, he sucked in a quiet breath of surprise as he raised his head just enough to note the head of brown curly hair on the pillow next to his, facing away from him. Casting a furtive look down, he licked his dry lips when he realised that her night gown had ridden up, and his fingers had come into contact with the silken skin of her lower back. Her skin was golden, darker than his though it had not seen the sun for a long time.

He was so close to her that he could see the tiny hairs on her thighs, and as his gaze travelled upwards, he dipped his head to breathe in the warm, muted scent of his sleeping wife. He was curled around her body and judging by the way the back of her gown was crinkled, he'd slept with his forehead cradled between her shoulder blades.

It was normal to wake with a morning erection – pleading impotency for years and even taking potions on the odd occasion to prove it had never dulled the pleasant ache that he often opened his eyes to.

Falling asleep quickly the night before, he had absolutely failed to account for the possibility that he might have a further reason apart from just regular bodily functions to experience such a sensation. It was a stroke of luck that she hadn't woken to it, embarrassing him more than he already was.

Hermione's backside was pressed firmly against his groin, close enough that he could feel himself growing even harder beneath the trousers he'd pulled on before coming to her the night before. Despite her thinness, the curves of her buttocks were soft and delicate, and for a long moment he had simply stared with his mouth open, barely able to believe that he of all men had the luck to wake up to such a lovely sight.

In the Great Hall, Severus felt his penis twitch as he remembered how she'd mumbled incoherently when he'd tried to ease away from her, resulting in her wriggling her arse and smacking her lips together before falling back to sleep.

He'd felt as overwhelmed as a newly sexually awakened teenager – all of those months in their quarters in '97 where he had ignored her smooth, nubile body were catching up on him now that he had her in her bed, pressing against him.

Severus couldn't help himself. It was an _exquisite_ form of torture.

His fingers twitched as he spread butter on his toast, recalling how easy it'd been to let his hand rest on her hip. His heart had been pounding, the blood roaring in his ears and he'd nearly moaned to feel her skin under his palm – so warm and tender. He trailed his fingers along the curve of her hip, and she pushed back once more, still lost to sleep. His breath hitched and the moan escaped in a breathless sound of desire. Did she know it was him with her? Did she realise it was her husband's lean body cupped around hers? Or was she simply lost to the haze of dreams, responding at a basic, sensual level rather than from anything that could be construed as her own true wishes?

It was one of the greatest temptations; he could ease the band of her knickers down, do away with the little blue scrap of lace – _lace!_ \- and spread his hands to feel the entirety of her derriere. And he could – oh, yes he most definitely could – let his fingers search ever lower until they encountered hot and slick folds. He could wake her like this, with gentle teasing touches and a kiss to her shoulder, swirling his index finger through the moisture before spreading it to that tiny little nub that would make her open her eyes with a pleased gasp of surprise.

But he did not.

Even as he ached to bury himself inside of his wife for the very first time, he looked down at her sleeping face – her young, innocent face.

 _So very young…_

Along with the seed of doubt planted in his mind, a quietly cast Tempus revealed that he was almost late, and he left the bed.

After his morning ablutions, he looked in on Hermione again, noting with satisfaction that she was still deeply asleep. Casting a silencing charm on his dragon hide boots, he jogged down the stairs and disappeared out into the early morning light, his black cloak and robes whipping around his body in the wind.

…

"Tink!"

The elf appeared beside Severus' desk in a flash, staring solemnly at the man he considered his master. It wasn't practice for anyone other than the Head of the school to have their own personal elf, but Tink had transferred his allegiances as quickly as Severus had taken up his old post in the dungeons.

"Tink is happy to serve, Master!" His large ears flapped as he nodded enthusiastically, then produced a comb and quickly ran it over the few strands of hair on his head. The emerald green pillow case he wore was starched to perfection. Severus had to stifle a genuine laugh, well aware that the elf had put on some airs ever since he'd been assigned to the Headmaster when Severus had first been forced to take up the office. A distant relation to Winky, Tink had cowered in front of the black haired wizard initially, but now exuded an amusing level of self confidence.

 _Perfect for the job,_ Severus mused with a short grin.

"Tink," he began seriously, conveying the importance of the task, "I wish for you to attend Madam Snape at our new residence. Just for a few days until-"

The elf beamed and issued forth a sound that wouldn't have gone astray on a giddy first year. "Tink will go immediately!"

 _Good grief._ Severus had forgotten how enthusiastic his old elf could be. He hoped that Hermione was up for a few days of Tink singing at full volume while he went about his tasks. It had taken the former Headmaster days to develop a spell that would even work on the creature, though truthfully he rather thought that his wife would enjoy such exuberant company.

With the idea that it was probably best to give clear instructions in case Hermione was overwhelmed, Severus said, "There are rooms that need to be cleaned upon your arrival. You will know which ones – it is an old house, so ensure that the integrity of the building is respected. That means _no_ garish colours on the walls or floors, hmm?"

Tink bobbed his head with a squeal. Biting down on a chortle, Severus continued, "Ensure that Madam Snape's bedroom is completely to her liking. She may also wish to work on the garden herself, so clear away any dangerous plants or thorns before she does so, would you? And don't tell her I told you to do that," he added with a wince. It wouldn't do to mollycoddle her any more than he already had. He was already more caregiver than husband, not that he expected that to change at all, but it wouldn't hurt to ease off on his efforts.

"Yes, yes! Tink is using discretion, Master!"

"Very good. And if you can do something about the size of the bathroom downstairs, do so. It is currently the size of a broom cupboard."

Tink sighed with sympathy and nodded again.

"The bedrooms upstairs are furnished well enough, but use your own judgement and take over whatever furniture from my old quarters you think will suit the rest of the house best. But ensure to ask Madam Snape as to her preferences for placement of said furniture, yes?"

"Of course, Master! Does Master have any preferences?"

"Christ – no. Not at all." He really didn't – he was sick of making decisions, and he was curious to see if Hermione would make the cottage into a real home, or whether it would only look like a temporary abode for them both.

Pushing his reading glasses further up his nose, Severus averted his eyes as he made the last request, unsure how Hermione would receive it when she found out. "And… if at all possible, increase the ceiling height in the second bedroom."

For all Severus knew, last night was a one off. They had never engaged in intimate acts, not really, and he was too uncertain of his own feelings on the matter to ask her directly. He saw her as a friend, that he knew, and so he planned to continue to stay in the bedroom he had assigned himself. Again, he remembered his wife that morning, so young compared to his nearly forty two years. Despite the longevity of magical folk, Severus had found a few grey hairs near his temples over the last few months and it only served to increase the expectation that those divorce papers he ordered upon her recovery would be needed sooner rather than later.

How could a woman forced to marry him ever grow any real affection for him? And even if she did, how could he ever believe that such feelings were true, after the way they were brought together? He had never mistreated her; in fact, he had always made more of an effort with her than anyone, aware that it would make their marriage more bothersome for both if he gave in to his occasional wishes to sneer or make snide remarks to her. He had never been charming after all. But he couldn't ignore his own history; while not being technically forced, his mother had not married for love nor for companionship. She was pregnant, young and unsure, Severus' father pushed for it, and so it was done. His mother's life of misery ensured that Severus could never really adjust to the idea of forming some kind of _romantic_ attachment to his wife and so he had shied away from anything of the sort.

For all of this, Hermione had been, for the most part, kind. More than kind, even. There had been a few nights after she had begun to sit with him not long after their marriage that he'd even researched Stockholm Syndrome – but even he wasn't that delusional, and he had never been her kidnapper.

Still, his doubts and suspicions remained.

He could not, in good conscience, ask her for anything more than the friendliness that she had always treated him with.

And he dared not. He was not a man to give in to rashness, nor to make quick decisions, but if this morning was any indication, he was losing his composure with his wife. Her proximity was tantalising and tempting, and if he ever did truly share her bed, he felt as if he would lose his heart entirely. Hermione was his _wife._ It would be such a simple thing to let himself fall for her, given that she was technically already bound to him. She was beautiful, with her wild hair and pink lips. Not a classic beauty; her teeth were still slightly pronounced and sharp looking and her nose was the opposite of his – upturned instead of hooked, but she had such an expressive face that he often couldn't look away.

Was it her beauty that he was attracted to, or her kind, considerate nature? Or both? And would he be reacting this way if there had been any other woman waking in the same bed with him this morning? Soft curves were soft curves – perhaps he was merely reacting because of all of those celibate years after Riddle's return.

He was utterly conflicted.

The entire situation was too difficult. He almost wished that she _would_ divorce him, if only to make their relationship clear.

Realising that Tink was still standing there as he had not properly dismissed him, Severus began to do so and then cut himself off with a hesitant, "And… And she likes lilacs… Perhaps you might take some sprigs over from my garden next to the private laboratory."

…

"So her parents are visiting today?"

"I'm surprised they didn't pop over yesterday. Lucky you, eh?"

"Enough, both of you. They can come whenever they want."

"Yes, well, the mother's a handful so have fun with that, sir. And the Weasleys? Today as well?"

"She might be gone before the end of the day… Wishful thinking, I know. And yes… _All_ of them."

"Merlin, I hope they don't come up here. I've got far too much to do – it's been relatively quiet without a Weasley breaking a bone or getting possessed or what have you. Good lord."

"Tell us what you really feel, Poppy, why don't you," Lavender commented between girlish snorts of laughter. The Hogwarts nurse grumbled under her breath and filled her mouth with another pastry.

"Still," Lavender said, "at least Molly will bring over good food. That's the _only_ thing I miss about being a Weasley."

"You never did mention why you two broke it off," Poppy commented curiously, and Severus' interest was piqued even further when the Healer growled a warning.

"It's too soon to go into it," Lavender grumbled. "I'm still angry about it and I'm here on a work visit so I have to maintain _some_ level of decorum. No breaking plates and such."

On the other side of the table, Severus let his curtain of hair fall forward to hide his burning cheeks. For once they hadn't flushed with anger or debilitating shyness, but with a great deal of amusement. If one had told him five years ago that he would be enjoying a lunch in Poppy's office with the matron herself as well as Lavender ruddy Brown, he might have stupefied himself on the spot. As it was… He popped a chocolate biscuit into his mouth and shrugged.

"I thought this was supposed to be a health visit?" he asked the young Healer, who wore business like robes in a light dove grey.

Lavender echoed his gesture, rolling her shoulders as she huffed. "The day you let me undertake a formal examination is the day that pigs fly. This is as good as I'll ever get. Tell me I'm wrong."

Severus' snarl turned into a bemused frown when both women tittered and laughed. "What?" he complained.

"Don't bother, Severus," Poppy chided, wagging her finger in a way that, on the surface, irritated him but underneath all of the buttons, he'd never really minded that she had always taken more of an interest in his health and manners than was proper. The nurse had been the one fixture in his life that exuded almost parental-like care for his welfare, and though he continuously resisted it, such protestations were at face value most days.

"How is it going, anyway?" Lavender said all too innocently, busying her hands with pouring a cup of tea that looked as if it were an entire cup of milk and a teabag. "How did the cottage hold up for your first night? That storm was certainly something, wasn't it Poppy?"

"Mm _hmm,_ " Poppy agreed, nodding as if her hum was something significant.

Severus met Lavender's side-on look with an exasperated sigh, preferring to stay silent.

It did not faze the Healer. "Hermione always disliked storms. Her episodes were often the worst then, so there was no way for me to dig deeper and work out why. How did she fare last night?"

Severus took his time, gathering his thoughts before they could all rush to his head. He poured himself another coffee, pointedly ignoring Poppy's knowing little titter. Sometimes the witch seemed more of a seer than Sybill.

In an effort to be at least somewhat gentlemanly, he softened his voice considerably before saying, "None of your business," then promptly regretted it when both women broke out into smug smirks that told him they were not fooled at all.

"Oh bugger off," he protested, throwing his lean body out of the chair and stalking out of the room, unaware of the two witches that immediately bent their heads together and whispered furiously between giggles.

…

"You're planning on making this walk every day, then?" Lavender asked as she strode briskly alongside him, looking around her at the scenery as she did so. "It's rather lovely. The fresh air should help."

"Help with _what?_ " Severus bit out. He was not bothered by the Healer's presence as she needed to visit Hermione anyway, but her perceptiveness was unnerving.

"You've lived alone for a long time, sir," she explained easily. "This arrangement will take some getting used to. And I'm here you know, if you want to t-"

"I don't."

"Thought you'd say that. Doesn't change the fact that I _am_ here for you."

"So you said."

"Gods, you don't make it easy, do you?"

"Now Ms. Brown," he drawled sarcastically, itching to just be home in the privacy of his room already, "what makes you say that?"

Instead of rising to his ire, Lavender came to a stop at the end of the lane and eyed the cottage apprehensively. Light was spilling out into the street and they could already hear the boisterous voices coming from inside. Severus felt a pang of sympathy for the young witch, and he suspected that the visit she was about to make would be made that more difficult by the presence of her outspoken ex-husband. He'd never even once referred to her personal situation other than cocking an eyebrow and congratulating her when she'd informed him of the divorce, and even though she wasn't of his own House and thus had never been under his proper instruction apart from regular lessons, he felt something akin to pride with how she set her shoulders and walked past him to begin closing the distance to the cottage.

When they reached the small fence that bordered both his wards and the front courtyard, the laughter reached a crescendo. He could easily discern Hermione and the idiot Weasley boy as being among them, as well as her mother Helen which rankled him more than he cared to admit.

 _Once an outsider, always an outsider,_ he thought grimly.

"Time to go in?" Lavender asked quietly from beside him, staring straight at the door. He wouldn't ever admit it even under duress, but he took strength from the stern set of her mouth and the way her held was held high.

The only support he could even manage to offer the Healer was a slight bow of his head and an elbow as he said gruffly, "I'll lead you in."

"Thanks," she muttered, a tinge of pink on her cheeks. "Sorry. This is bloody well difficult. It is for you, too, if I may dare to presume such a thing…"

"It may be," he allowed, then gave her a wry smirk. "But you're forgetting one thing."

"Oh?"

He lowered his voice and scowled at the door then looked back at his conspirator. "I'm the bastard bat of the dungeons, Ms. Brown. I can clear a room in a heartbeat."

Lavender snorted then clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a hoot, and his mouth twitched with a humourous grin. "No time like the present," he pronounced, and opened the door with a wave of his wand.

…

Oh yes, he still had it.

The entire sitting room was filled to the brim with Weasleys and Grangers, and a flash of black hair in the kitchen signified Potter was there as well. Everyone went absolutely quiet when he entered the cottage, and the atmosphere was awkward enough to make him want to turn around on the spot and Disapparate the hell out of there.

The witch on his arm took it upon herself to speak first.

Lavender's face split into a wide grin and in an instant, she was the bubbly young thing from Hogwarts again. "Hello, everyone!" she called, waving madly around the room. He had to look away to hide a chuckle as all eyes looked to the blonde haired woman and thankfully, away from him; no doubt her aim in the first place.

Hermione was nowhere to be seen, and he glowered for good effect. Moving as one, they all stood and began mumbling excuses about it being time to head home, though Molly bustled over and gave him a peck on the cheek. Lavender received an awkward embrace from the matriarch, and he spied Ron in a back corner looking increasingly uncomfortable.

 _Good. Uppity little shit._

Surprisingly, Richard wormed his way through the room and stuck out a hand to Severus, who grasped it with a hesitant nod of his head. The brown haired man cleared his throat.

"Evening, Severus," he said, his tone making it clear that he was committed to at least greeting his daughter's husband. It left the wizard flummoxed, and it took him a good few seconds to blink away his surprise.

"Hello, Richard," said Severus, then exhaled as his father in law harrumphed in a satisfied sort of way then stepped aside. He found himself wishing for the quiet, stout man's presence again, though, as his hand was quickly descended upon by some of the lesser nutters that made up the Weasley clan.

"Arthur," he greeted, followed by, "Percy – good to see you," and a, "I'm not taking your hand, George. Drop what you're concealing. Drop _it._ There's a good boy. Now offer your other hand. Good evening to you."

Charlie and Bill approached, both wearing twin looks of blankness, and he shook their hands quickly before they, too, moved to the door. Ron opted to storm past with a grumbled oath and he clenched his jaw to stop a scathing reprimand when the youngest boy ignored the woman who was once his spouse. It didn't stop him from grabbing the idiot as his foot stepped on the threshold, though, and Severus took pleasure in growling, "My house, my rules, Weasley. _Be polite._ "

"Sod off," the boy whined, shrugging off his grip and striding off into the night.

"Sorry," Arthur mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "He'll come 'round."

"You say that as if I wish for him to do such a thing," Severus drawled. "Take the boy to see someone, Arthur. I am beginning to tire of his antics."

To an old pureblood family, the insinuation that one needed to see what wizards called a Mind Healer and Muggles called Psychologists was a blatant insult. For all of his good politics, Arthur blushed a deep shade of red and quickly left the room to the music of Lavender's soft laughter.

"You were right," she said softly, surveying the room. "You really _can_ clear out a room. And what a room it is!"

And for the first time, Severus got a good look at his new sitting room.

It was… "Brilliant," he breathed, forgetting himself as he looked around. She'd truly outdone herself – it was bloody wonderful. Bookcases lining the walls that Tink must've brought over from his old chambers, and he recognised his reading chair in front of the fire that was crackling. There was another chair opposite it, angled in a way that the occupier would be companionably facing him, and the sight made his heart pound in his chest. With a dry mouth, he took note of the familiar navy couch that had once been in his old private sitting room, and the rug on the floor was his, but Tink had worked his magic in a way that made the Persian now have hints of blue and gold rather than the emerald it had been. She'd managed to create a room completely devoid of reminders of either of their Houses, and in turn he realised that it was somewhere Hermione must've been hoping that _both_ of them would spend time in.

The walls had been painted with a gentle cream colour, and presumably the white peeling layer underneath had been taken off. There was no room for an artwork or two, but Severus was tempted to walk into the kitchen to see whether his wife had scrounged around and found a painting to cover the bare walls there. On the coffee table in front of the couch, a large vase was stuffed with lilacs from his private garden at Hogwarts.

Helen and Richard sat on the couch, his mother in law's face fixed into a careful expression of politeness. He greeted her first then waved Lavender into a chair.

"She should be down soon," Helen said quietly. "She was just going to the loo."

Severus scratched at the end of day stubble on his cheek, opting not to comment. Instead he left Lavender as she began to make small talk, and followed the dull bangs coming from the kitchen. Tink was nowhere to be seen and as he rounded the corner, he slowed to a stop when he saw two denim covered legs stretched out on the floor with a head nowhere in sight.

"Potter," he said flatly, recognising the scuffed trainers. "What exactly are you doing?"

There was a muffled groan of discomfort followed by a, "Shit!" when the boy must've hit his head upon easing himself out of the bottom cupboard. Severus coughed to hide a bark of laughter. The older wizard walked into the kitchen fully and stepped over Harry's legs, crouching down beside the boy to see him with a hammer in his hand. He cocked an eyebrow and tilted his head.

Potter grinned and held up the tool. "Tink said that the cupboards are too delicate even for elf magic. It was this way or the highway. Or, erm, Hermione's way or the highway. She didn't want to change anything about the overall feel of the place, so we're just sorting all the hinges and then Tink will… can't remember what he said, but reinforce it somehow. And change the colours."

It was entirely ridiculous, but Severus had to fight down the urge to feel put out at his wife asking Potter to do such a thing. As a wizard, he was well aware of his power and skills but this was something lower than that, some strange form of male pride that was damaged by the sight of the boy in his own kitchen, fixing things the Muggle way. Harry must've noticed the flash of disappointment on his face, for he quickly sat up properly and shoved the hammer into Severus' hand.

"I learned from being ordered around at the Dursley's, but I ruined things more than I fixed them. Intentionally, but anyway. You're probably better at this than I am. There's only a few to go."

"Right," Severus replied blandly. "A job for the weekend, then." Searching for something to say to fill the silence given that Potter still hadn't bloody left, he managed to offer, "Where is Miss Weasley this evening? I did not notice her among the cavalry."

Harry smirked and pushed himself up onto his knees with a huff. "She trains on Friday nights. She was hoping to come around on Sunday, though, if erm, that's all right with you…"

For once Severus was glad of marking to keep him busy and he nodded with a roll of his eyes; he'd always been courteous to his wife – he wasn't about to become a saint to her friends if none of them were going to confess about-

"I told Hermione," Harry said suddenly, running a hand through his messy black hair. Severus frowned, waiting for an explanation. "About… About not visiting as much as you… as much as others."

"Did you now?"

"I… ah… yes."

Unaware that he had advanced on him, Severus found that he was towering over the boy with a scowl on his face. "And how did she receive the news? She's barely a week out of hospital, Potter! Couldn't you have waited?"

"I didn't want to lie to her!" Harry defended himself with red, mortified cheeks. "She was all right with it… a bit sad… but I wish she'd been angry. I deserve it."

 _Ruddy self sacrificing Gryffindors…_

"I'll be angry enough for the both of us, how's that?" Severus drawled and tossed his head, exasperated. "And the Weasley boy?" It was easy to surmise that Hermione would be extremely upset this evening if the idiot had pulled his finger out of his arse long enough to be up-front with his supposed best friend. It might have been worthwhile to stop and examine the protective emotions that were coming to a head within him, but Severus was not in the mood for soul searching.

"Erm, no," Harry admitted. "Not a word."

Surprising the younger boy, Severus stepped back and nodded. "Probably for the best."

"I think so," Harry said carefully. "She's worked out something's off with him. She might ask you about it…"

Severus headed the remark off with a flip of his hand. "It's not my place. You lot didn't visit, ergo you can sort it out."

"Yeah… well… right. Yeah. You're right. So, er… how was your first night?"

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and glared at the impertinent boy. Forgoing an insulting remark, he left the kitchen instead, giving himself just enough time to be situated before Hermione came down the stairs. It was going to be a long night.


	12. Chapter 12

_I think we need a flashback, don't you? Just an FYI… the song lyrics can apply to either Hermione or Severus. Feel free to message me if you'd like titles or anything else. A few have asked how long this will go for… not 100 chapters, I'm afraid (although I am flattered)… It depends on how the editing of the rest goes, but let's say 20 for now._

* * *

 **Chapter 12**

All the stars keep turning

Wheeling all night long

I wish you'd turn and

Hear my song.

 _Paul Kelly_

* * *

Severus sat awkwardly in his reading chair as he eyed the fidgeting couple on the couch. Lavender had taken Hermione upstairs to talk and do Merlin knew what else, and Helen and Richard had decided to stay until the Healer finished the examination. Potter had left not long after the Weasleys, something that Severus was thankful for; it was unnerving to think that he might have to become used to visits from the boy, but Harry's nervousness meant that there didn't need to be much talking. It was doable, for the moment.

Again he asked himself why he was sitting here in this house – his house – with his wife. It was ludicrous. He did not belong here, in this polished sitting room… He should have let her see his real home in Cokeworth. Hermione would've run screaming in the opposite direction. With a silent sneer, he looked into the fire, thinking that for once Minerva had been right. What was he thinking? What was she thinking? They were playing house like children, except he was the adult and she the young, lovely witch who could do so much better.

Startled at where his mind had ended up, Severus frowned. She could do better? That implied that he was invested in this somehow – he wasn't.

At least, he didn't think that he was…

"Severus?"

He turned his attention to Richard, who was sipping on a cup of black tea. Helen sat rigidly on the couch though she had pushed her body up against one end instead of sitting beside her husband. Curious, indeed.

"I haven't… ah…" Richard glanced at Helen's stony face and shrugged before continuing in a firmer voice, "I haven't thanked you for everything that you've done. Not just for giving Hermione all of this." He gestured around the room with a faint approving smile. "But for being there for her when she was ill. You didn't have to; my understanding is that the two of you had nothing that even remotely resembled an actual marriage…"

"No," Severus confirmed, unable to keep a slight curtness from his tone. "You are already aware that the entire thing was to keep your daughter safe."

"For which we are, of course, grateful," his father in law replied. Helen managed a small nod at this, though she kept quiet. Richard studied the younger wizard for a moment, and Severus was reminded of his trial in the days not long after the ending of the war – the elderly wizards had looked at him in much the same way.

Not knowing what to say, he decided to incline his head, acknowledging the comment.

Unperturbed, Richard said gruffly, "And what you're doing now… You're giving our girl a home. Even if you both go your separate ways at some point, which I imagine will be the case, you've done a lot for her. Thank you."

The words stung. He wasn't sure exactly why that was so, but Severus knew it was only the beginning. Now that the war was over, everyone would assume that Hermione would divorce him quietly, go back to living the life she should have led had it not been for Riddle and his threats.

 _More fool me_ , he mused bitterly. He'd worked out that he felt something for the witch upstairs, though he had kept it tightly reined for this exact reason.

"You will, won't you?" Helen cut into his thoughts with an apprehensive stare. "You will go your separate ways?"

Severus sighed, fed up with the evening. He was half of a mind to simply return to the castle if this was what every night would bring him. Weary from both a long day at work and an evening of less than desirable company, he muttered, "When your daughter wishes it, it will be done."

"And what about you?" Richard leaned forward, resting elbows on his knees. His hair was curly and bushy, though the man kept it shorter than Severus' own black locks. There was a perceptive look in his eyes that the wizard did not appreciate, all the more so because he suspected that Richard understood more than he was letting on.

Severus rolled his shoulders. "What about me?"

"What about your wishes?"

"Oh for god's sake," Helen hissed at her husband. "It doesn't bloody matter. We need her home, Richard! She can't – she can't stay here! Look at the place! It's falling apart!" Hermione's mother wrung her hands and shook her head. "This isn't what we wanted for her!"

"Give it a rest, Helen," Richard said tiredly. "She's only just got out of hospital. If this is where she wants to be, then leave her be! You heard what Healer Brown said – Hermione needs time to adjust. And when she's had it, she'll come back. In the meantime, stop being so bloody overprotective!"

"And you should stop being so simple minded, Richard!" Helen scolded. "That's our daughter upstairs! Or do you not remember having her? How could you let her stay here? How could you accept for her to live with this man?" She pointed an accusing finger at Severus. "He's more than twice her age! He never has a kind word to spare for anyone. He'd break her in one day! It's positively revolting!"

"Helen!" Richard cried but Severus had had enough of observing the couple. Their voices had grown louder and louder, and this was his home. Aware that his protective, territorial instincts had started this mess in the first place, he still couldn't stop himself from standing abruptly.

" _Desist,"_ he snarled, glowering at them as if they were bickering third years. "This, no matter what you may think of it, Mrs. Granger, is my home, even if it is a temporary one. Your presence is welcome here because of my wife, but your insults, quite frankly, are not. Stop your incessant complaining, for goodness' sake, and leave if I bother you so much. If you wish to stay, do me a favour and _mind your tongue_."

Without another word, he nodded to a shame faced Richard and stalked up the stairs. A wave of his wand had the door to the bathroom sealed shut, and he spent almost an hour underneath the hot spray of the shower, trying to wash an overall sense of hopelessness down the drain.

…

Severus stayed in the second bedroom for the rest of the evening, summoning Tink to bring him a plate of some of Molly's cooking that the older woman had left. He ate the roast chicken absentmindedly, because though he would more than likely have a headache from it for the coming weekend, he had tucked the majority of his feelings behind his mental walls. It wasn't due to disinterest or even disappointment; Severus was just tired.

The fork halted on its way back from his mouth when there was a soft knock on the door. Looking down at his cotton pyjama pants and matching navy shirt that he'd had Tink set out after the disaster of the night before, Severus swallowed the mouthful quickly.

"Enter," he grunted, returning to his meal as Hermione opened the door and slid into the room. She stood on the threshold for a long while, watching while he ate instead of looking at her, but eventually his wife made her way into the room.

"May I sit?" she asked softly, gesturing to the bed. There were no chairs and he was currently perched cross legged near the head. Severus nodded and set the plate aside when the mattress sunk at the other end of the bed. He stared at the subtle patterns on the brown quilt cover, tracing a few with his fingers.

"I'm sorry," Hermione mumbled into the air, her voice thin. "I… I heard what mum said. She shouldn't have; I'm sorry you had to hear that."

"It wasn't your doing," he said gruffly. "Don't apologise for something that you had no hand in."

"Still…"

"It doesn't matter." His dismissal came out like sounding like a reprimand, but he was too tired to explain further.

"It does," she protested quietly. "She had no right to speak to you like that. None at all. I've had words with her; it won't happen again, I assure you."

Hermione reached towards him hesitantly and he flinched when her hands came into contact with his. She took both of his larger hands and held them within her smaller grasp. He raised his head and grimaced when he took in her wide eyes that were swimming with tears along with her face that was twisted into an apologetic expression. It was enough to make him exhale and shake his head.

"Let's not, wife," said Severus gently, putting the matter to rest. "I do not wish to waste time speaking of it."

Her shoulders slumped but she smiled nonetheless. "If that's what you want."

The old Hermione would've pursued it relentlessly until he was forced to accept her apology, though he was surprised that for once he was not bemoaning the spitfire that she had once been. He'd always found it attractive, endearing almost, despite how incredibly annoying it could sometimes be. But this gentle understanding, this almost feminine way of knowing when to let a subject go for the meantime… He liked it; very much.

"Everyone's gone," she remarked. "I thought you might like to come downstairs and have some tea? Unless you're too tired, that is."

"I'm not," he returned simply. "I have the weekend to recover from my house being invaded by a hoard of Weasleys."

She giggled and turned her head away, giving him a glimpse of her blushing cheeks. "Sorry for that, too. No one's coming tomorrow, at least… unless you have plans?"

Severus usually preferred to complete his marking on Saturdays, but due to a rare stroke of luck, there was only one stack of essays awaiting his attention. He was already of a mind to have her read through the NEWT level pieces he'd shoved into the drawer of the bedside table, if only to gage whether any of her academic memories had tampered off as well. It didn't seem so, but he was determined to be sure.

"I have nothing organised," he said slowly. "I'll need to be around the house for the morning, when my office at the castle is open to the students, just in case any of them get it into their heads that they need me. But other than that, no."

"Well, good," Hermione smiled. "I'm glad."

He raised an eyebrow and she met his gaze with an easy tilt of her head, unfazed by the way he automatically searched for signs that she didn't mean it. When he could recognise the truth in her tone, Severus retreated behind a curtain of hair. "Right."

"So… would you like to come downstairs?" It was an interesting way to pose the question. And strangely enough, it resonated with him; would he like to have tea with her tonight? Would he like to have a quiet life here with her, for as long as it suited them?

"Yes," he answered suddenly, surprised at the fact that it was true. "I would like that." And that was that. He liked this, he recognised. Not the arguments of their guests, or the uncertainty that was attached to it – none of that, of course. But this simple, calm life?

It was new, and perhaps it would not last, but he decided in that moment that yes; he did like it. And that could be enough.

For the time being.

…

"And what about Lavender?"

She was curled up in her reading chair, her hair a riot of curls that rested on her shoulders. It looked golden in the firelight, but each time she tossed it, there was a multitude of chestnut, autumn colours that left him enthralled more than once. Two cups of tea sat cold and forgotten on one of the bookshelves.

"I assume she told you herself."

"Oh, she did. But I like to hear these things from you," Hermione admitted, her cheeks colouring.

Severus allowed a small grin to escape his usual blank façade. "You're just using me to get ahead on all of the gossip."

Hermione swatted a hand in his direction. "In my defence," she sniffed, "it's been three years."

"Yes," he agreed pensively, turning away from her to look into the fire. "It has." And yet now that it had all passed as time was wont to do, he could barely remember what it felt like to sit beside her at the hospital, weathering the storms that were her episodes. It beggared belief that she was actually here now, but she was. He was a married man again, and living with his wife.

"It's astounding," he said quietly. "Three years, and yet here we are." It was as close as he would come to confessing that he was still trying to wrap his mind around it all.

Hermione gave a little titter of amusement and he looked upon her fondly, truly enjoying this small moment of peace. She returned his gaze with a tilt of her head and a gentle, welcoming smile. "I'm glad we are. Here, I mean."

"Truly?"

"Truly."

Severus let out a breath then shook his head while wiping a hand over his mouth. "This all feels so… quick. Last week you were…" He shrugged, unable to articulate it. "And now you're here and having dinner parties and drinking tea in this sitting room that looks really bloody lovely, by the way."

"Oh, do you think so!" she breathed, grinning widely. "Your elf did well. He's so… chipper."

"Indeed," Severus drawled, leaning back in the chair as he stretched his legs out. "Back to the point at hand…"

"Lavender?"

"Your cheek will not be tolerated, Miss Granger," he snarled, a perfect imitation of her old Professor. Her titters grew into giggles, which turned into a feminine laugh that should have made him cringe but instead left him captivated. In the first year of their marriage, he'd often thought of her as a girl trying to play the part of a woman; all of those years in hospital had made him blind to any other changes, and yet here she sat: a woman indeed.

When her laughter tapered off, leaving her with shining eyes, Hermione left him flummoxed by saying, "It has been quick. But all of this… this is what we should have had, Severus, don't you see? We never even had a chance. It wasn't fair then and it isn't fair now, but I'd like to… I'd like to… oh I don't know. We're friends, aren't we?"

He inclined his head with a soft smile. "We are."

"Then maybe we could," she stammered, breaking off to chew on her lip. "Maybe we could just give it a go. Living together - as friends," she added nervously.

"As friends?" Severus repeated, puzzled. "You wish to stay here with me? Like… like…" He searched for the word, "…like flat mates?" The term sounded strange coming from his lips.

Hermione nodded eagerly. "I do; I really do. Isn't this what you wanted? I still remember, you know – you said you wanted time away from the castle."

"Well, yes but-"

"And don't start about me doing things just for your benefit. In case you haven't noticed, it's not as if I have a very warm home environment to return to-"

"Then you're just-"

"And you're not a second choice!"

Severus shut his mouth and blinked owlishly. The surprise was clear on his face, and it was with interest that he watched Hermione's eyes soften until she was ducking her head shyly, casting glances at him from beneath her lashes.

"You always were my first choice, Severus," she mumbled, gazing into her lap. "Then and now."

He remembered when he had ranted and raved, when he had thrown objection after objection into Albus' twinkling face. It still irked him now, how the decision had been taken so forcibly out of his hands. And yet, it had never been as awful as he had expected it to be.

"I think…" he enunciated slowly, without any window dressing to his normal low purr of a voice, "…I think that perhaps… Perhaps you might have been, too; my first choice."

"Then or now?" The teasing note to the words was a relief and Severus smirked.

"Now - but then? Only with foresight."

"Scoundrel!" she hurled at him, turning away with a hand over her mouth to cover a smile. "Snarky, impossible man."

He made no real answer, preferring instead to arch one eyebrow and reheat his cup of tea. There was a warmth to the room now and he suspected that it had nothing to do with the roaring fire.

…

"So Lavender has only recently become a Healer?"

"You could say that. It's a combination of things. She volunteered, you know, around the clock when you were first brought in. Not for you specifically, but it soon ended up that way. And then she went into training when they passed that motion that the students of your year could graduate without taking the formal exams; no one was more shocked than I when she worked day and night to earn enough extra credit to take you on as a patient on her own within a year and a half. She was still an Apprentice; my understanding is that formal training lasts for two years."

"Well that's not very long…"

Severus set his teacup down. "You're forgetting the way that many of the old society view that ward, Hermione. The regulations for the Healers who specialise in such illnesses are not as stringent as those on the emergency response team, for example. A pity, but it is what it is."

"That's ridiculous!" Hermione cried, throwing her hands in the air. Severus bit back a grin; _seems that the spitfire hasn't completely left after all._

"Really – those old bloody codgers should just get off their high horses for a change. I wasn't _crazy_ , for Merlin's sake and neither are Frank and Alice! B-somebody did it to me!"

"I know," said Severus, well aware of her avoiding using Bellatrix's name. "Kingsley is working on it, but it will take time. They did pay for your treatment, though, which is something."

"And so they should!" she fumed. "They ignored V- sorry, Riddle's return; it's only fair that they take some responsibility!"

He watched as she began to pace in front of the fireplace while wringing her hands as she continued to passionately list the faults of the Ministry. Her information may have been three years out of date, but he enjoyed it nonetheless.

When she threw her body down into the chair again with an endearing scowl, he offered, "Surely you have more questions for me? Do you really only want to know about Lavender Brown and the Ministry's financial grants?"

The prompt caught her attention, as he had intended it to. "Of course!" she said brightly. "God, I've got questions coming out of my ears. No one would sit still long enough for me to ask anything tonight. I mean I understand, but… anyway." She tapped her finger on her chin as she thought of what she wanted to ask first. He was taken aback, but pleased, when she began with, "I want to know everything that happened to you, Severus. From the Final Battle until… well, now. I've put your hints together but it's not the same as hearing it from you. Won't you tell me?"

"You want to know about me?" he asked skeptically, crossing his arms. "Why?"

Her answer came in the form of a softly spoken, "Do I need a reason?"

He looked away. "I guess not."

It was irritating to speak of the time immediately following the end of the war. Sure that he would be dead before the culmination of it all, Severus had been a loose cannon for the Ministry; he hadn't planned on being around, and thus hadn't put any thought to defending himself. They weren't sure what to do with him; his defection at the very end had been obvious enough, but there were still all of those years of spying beforehand that left his status up in the air.

"So what did you do?" Hermione asked. "How did you clear your name? I mean, I assume that it's cleared. You're here, after all."

"Indeed," he said with a wry smirk. "I… ah…" Uncomfortable with the admission, he directed his gaze at the fire. "I shared some memories of mine with Potter and Kingsley Shacklebolt." For a while he was lost as he looked into the flames, recalling the images that he'd selected, the feelings that were wrenched out of his mind and into vials, ready for others to watch and criticise. Laying himself bare had been one of the most awful things he had ever done… watching others rifle through such precious memories had made him almost blind with rage and frustration; only Occlumency had helped him sit through the closed trial without turning his wand on all of them. At first Hermione asked hesitantly if those memories would be able to be viewed by others, and he knew instantly that she herself was curious. He declined flatly, though not unkindly. They were not images that he wanted her to see. Not now.

"So who was there?"

"Shacklebolt, Potter, Arthur Weasley, Dumbledore's portrait, a handful of more notable members of the Wizengamot."

"And you didn't… they didn't…"

"No, no." He waved a vague, tired hand in the air. "I wasn't charged. I was questioned under Veritaserum for weeks to please the masses, but I wasn't formally charged."

"Then why did you even put yourself through it? Why let others see the memories? Why let them interrogate you, if you knew they wouldn't charge you?"

It was an innocent question, but it still made him scoff. Hermione drew back in her chair, chastened and stung; he ran a hand through his hair and offered her a rueful grimace.

"It was all lip service, Hermione. If I had declined, I would've found myself on trial with the rest of them. As it was, I had a closed trial, no shackles on my wrists, no bolting me down with chains in the chair for all of the public to see. I certainly appreciate Kingsley's efforts on my behalf, as he did a great deal for me then, but make no mistake – if I hadn't gone along with it, I would've been chucked in Azkaban and you would've been left on your own."

"Why did they even bother?" she asked in a small voice. "If you still had to prove your worth, why did they dress it up like that?"

"Do you really need to ask?" he said, tilting his head. "For you, of course."

"For me? I don't understand."

"No, I… I suppose you don't." Severus looked down at his hands that were busy with tugging on a few loose threads on the upholstered arm of the chair. He tried to encourage himself to speak plainly. "The first few weeks after the Battle were chaotic. The castle had to be rebuilt, the Ministry needed a good amount of purging before it was even remotely functional. Almost the entire Magical population had been affected; the bloody country was in a shambles. And you were… you were… You were ill," he muttered.

"Amidst all of the bedlam, you were in a hospital bed. There was no one to… and I wasn't welcome at the school then, so I…" Giving up, Severus stood and peered into her face, noting the cautious way she was hugging her knees to her chest. "They treated me well because of my association with you, and because I was the only one with never ending time on my hands to stay with you while you were ill. No one ever thought that… At no point did it seem like it was going to take years for you to…"

Hermione smiled at that but she scrutinised Severus' face all the same. He ran a hand through his hair and avoided her gaze. The windows showed a black night sky; the reflection of the married couple was clearly displayed.

"It's late," he announced quietly. "I think you should sleep." It was only half directed at her; he was almost asleep on his feet.

"I'm not tired," Hermione protested, but she broke off into a yawn at the end and he chuckled, too intent on watching her sheepish grin than to realise the tenderness with which he had welcomed her show of weariness.

"I beg to differ." He extended a hand. "Come."

Her pink lips parted and her delicate hand shook by the time she placed it in his. "Are you all right?" he asked, drawing her hand to his arm as he led her up the stairs. "Your visit with Lavender… is there any news?"

They reached her bedroom door.

"Oh, no, no, of course not," she answered, her eyes flitting between the door and his figure. Severus cocked his head and frowned.

"Are you sure? You seem…" He trailed off and scratched his chin. "Skittish."

"Oh, well, I… erm… It's a lot to learn," she offered, shrugging in an attempt to look nonchalant. He knew better; Severus took a step closer to her, intending to see her face better and to judge for himself, but Hermione sucked in a breath at his movement and stood with her eyes trained on his mouth. "It's a lot to take in," she whispered. "All of these years… It was so long for you, Severus. Three years, and you stayed with me."

"Yes," he sounded out, not knowing what else to say.

"How can I even begin to thank you?"

Insulted, he could only sneer and curl his lip. "I do not require your thanks. I didn't do it because-"

"Severus." Hermione held up a hand. "I know. I _know_. I know you – don't you remember?"

It felt like all of the breath rushed out of him at once. He reached out a hand to steady himself as the weight of her words hit home, and instantly it evoked the scene of her standing before him in the Headmaster's office, saying those exact same words. It was a perilous memory to summon – she was so close, far too near to not notice that he was reacting to the way she had formed the words.

 _Does she remember? Surely not… The words are a coincidence, that's all. She said that she didn't remember…_

"You should sleep," he rasped before he turned and closed the distance between himself and his own door.

"Severus, please!" Hermione reached out and pulled his hand back, making him stumble. "Don't go to bed angry with me. You know I'm not just here because I'm grateful. I am grateful, but that's not… it's not…"

Seeing her fumble with her speech made him instantly regret attaching such significance to a random assortment of words. "It's fine," he said quickly. "It's fine. Don't think about it, wife. Go to bed."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," he nodded, frowning quizzically. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing. Really," she added when he scowled. "I was just thinking… I mean if you weren't…"

"Spit it out woman," he said bluntly, not liking how his heart jumped when she looked so delightfully shamefaced.

"You're right," Hermione agreed. "I shall. Come to lunch with me."

Taken aback, Severus barked out a laugh before he squinted at her. "What?" he demanded incredulously.

She set her shoulders and raised two thin dark eyebrows. "Didn't you hear me?"

"I… ah… well, yes, but…"

"It'd be nice," said Hermione, tugging on his arm. "Tomorrow. Let's go into the village and have lunch together. Merlin knows neither of us can put a good meal together and it'd be nice to get out, wouldn't it?"

He nodded, acknowledging the plain truth. "Yes, we are rather poor cooks aren't we?"

She grinned and nodded, then held her hands out and raised them one by one, like she was weighing ingredients. "So – yes or no?"

"To lunch?" he confirmed, slightly flustered.

Hermione added impishly, "And a walk. Maybe a coffee afterwards."

He was amazed. What on earth was this? The evening had been terrible, then rather nice, and now he was reduced to feeling like an awkward sod with spots on his face.

"That would be agreeable," he answered eventually, grunting a stiff farewell when she disappeared into her room with a breathy, "Goodnight then, Severus."

 _Good grief,_ he thought when he eased his body down on the bed. Just when he was beginning to understand just what their status was – friends, apparently – she went and threw such an invitation in his face. He scoffed into the air and turned on his side.

Had she really thought, even for a second, that he could resist?


	13. Chapter 13

_There is a rather lovely gift at the end of this chapter for you all, to make up for the lack of a flashback. As always, thank you to the guests who review and to my wonderful friend HatakeHinata (who will squeal upon seeing this note) as she is the reason for me finding the time to put my bum on the chair and finish this chapter off! I promise I have some good, multi chaptered excuses that I shall put here at some point! ;-)_

* * *

 **Chapter 13**

Darling, you're one for the ages  
Your beauty suits every clime  
There's a mystery deep within  
And in the light upon your skin  
I could study for all time

 _Paul Kelly_

* * *

They made a peculiar pair.

Despite the almost warm weather, Severus had donned his usual shirt, coat and robes, and the light wind sent the back of the robes billowing behind him. His scowl didn't help the austere, rigid image that he presented, though if one looked closely, it became clear that the frown was one of bemusement, of a perplexing kind of enjoyment, rather than his usual bad mood.

Next to his tall, looming figure walked a young woman that his eyes kept darting towards. Each time they looked upon her, they widened slightly, even gleamed a little with the spark of male pride that came from walking with someone so resplendent. Hermione truly was beautiful, Severus decided in that moment; she strolled beside him with her hands linked behind her back, opening herself to him fully as she rambled on about the changes to the village, the kitten and owl they were due to pick up, the lunch that would surely be better than her buttered toast.

"But you do make a mean soup," she commented, offering him a sideways glance under her lashes. It took him a good moment to even register the offhand compliment, given that he had been surreptitiously ogling her deep blue blouse that matched the headband she'd slid on that morning to keep her curls out of her eyes. It didn't cling to her body – her thinness made that impossible – but as they walked against the wind, it flattened down over her breasts, highlighting the soft skin beneath the wired brassiere. He looked away, his mouth dry.

"Yes, well," he mumbled in the end, "soups are like potions. A roast, however…"

"Poppy told me that you almost burned down Spinner's End when she made you invite her over last Christmas."

"The oven was faulty," Severus deadpanned, allowing a quick grin to escape when she threw her head back and laughed. "And she was certainly not invited – she tricked me into lowering my wards and invited _herself._ " Still, it had been an enjoyable night, even if he'd woken with the worst hangover he'd had in years.

This was different to the short months they'd spent married in Hogwarts before – despite living mostly away from prying eyes, he had been so _busy_ with life and all it entailed that he had barely had time to appreciate the delicate beauty of his wife. Even without the pressure of day to day living, he doubted he ever would have truly seen her – he'd rarely looked twice at any students and his general distaste for such a thing kept him from her as surely as the spying did.

But now, walking with her down the lane and into the village, he wondered how on earth he had lived for so long and been able to look away from her smiling face. It was drawing him in, coaxing him out of his solitude. He tried to picture going back to live in his dungeon quarters again, alone, and found that he couldn't.

It had been less than a week, and already Severus knew that he was enjoying himself more than he had in years. It felt like he had achieved something – not a medal for his troubles, where his efforts in the war had been ranked and debated over, but something _real,_ something tangible. In the space of just a week, he'd moved into a house with his _wife._ Despite being into his forties now, it was like a coming of age.

There was a persistent niggling in his mind that wondered what came after this, what was the natural progression after moving in with a spouse, but he shoved that aside.

"Everyone is staring," Hermione muttered, and he wrenched his gaze away from her to take in the fact that yes, everyone certainly was looking at the odd sight that was Severus Snape walking with the very delicate Hermione Granger. It was to be expected, he supposed – Hermione hadn't been seen out much since her release from hospital and while their marriage announcement had been tucked into one of the back pages of the Prophet, their union hadn't garnered much attention since. Living quietly had seen to that.

And the old biddies of Hogsmeade would always have something to say about an old bloke in billowing robes walking with a lovely young woman in the tightest jeans Severus had ever seen.

He was of a mind to laugh out loud, smile widely – give them a good show. But then she sidled closer to his body, seeking out some natural protection that she assumed he could offer, and he realised that it really didn't matter. He was a snarky, often dour man and for some reason, Hermione wasn't at all fazed by it.

So instead of making himself into something that he wasn't, Severus glowered into the air and held out an arm for his wife, then tucked her into his side. When Hermione curled her fingers around his elbow and looked up at him with something akin to adoration, he only grunted and continued on the walk as he escorted his wife like the intimidating bat he was, all for the cause of going to pick up a tiny little kitten.

…

They sat together in one of the new restaurants that had popped up since the death of Riddle. Severus had never been before, but Hermione liked the look of the private booths and so they seated themselves towards the back while analysing the menu.

It had been so long since he'd come into a place like this (for all that it was a casual eatery, he still was not the type to eat out for leisure) that Severus really had no idea what he wanted. It was effortless to eat at Hogwarts – no choices had to be made bar reaching out one's hand and selecting from the options already on the table, but looking at a menu was something else.

"What are you having?" Hermione had chosen to sit beside him in the booth, not opposite, and her thigh brushed against his as she leaned in to ask the question in a low voice.

"I don't know," he whispered back, holding up the menu as if it were a piece of evidence. "I'm torn between a chicken sandwich or the basil pesto pasta. A colossal decision."

She snickered and elbowed his side. "It does feel that way, doesn't it? God, I haven't been to a place like this in _years._ Can you get the pasta? I'll get the sandwich."

"That's an easy way out," he drawled. "You're riding on my coat tails now."

"Not really," she sniffed. "I just don't want all the bits of basil in my teeth."

The absurdity of it made him choke on a laugh that made his cheeks colour when it echoed around the almost silent restaurant. In an instant, his wand was out and he silenced the curtains around their booth. Hermione watched all of this with her lips pressed firmly together, her eyes dancing with amusement.

"What?" he complained, scrawling their orders on the magical parchment that vanished as soon as he'd finished. "Have you decided on a drink?" He eyed the menu as if it had personally insulted him. "They say that you may choose any combination that you desire."

"Let me think a little," she said. Her mouth was so close to his ear as she looked at the menu over his shoulder that her breath tickled the fine hairs on his neck. It made something hot and heavy twist in his stomach; he could feel a distinct tightening as his body reacted to her closeness, and he cleared his throat awkwardly, wanting a way to release the tension he felt but not wishing for her to move.

She hummed and tapped her fingers on the table. "Lemon and mint!"

He raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He was not a good cook in the overall meaning of the word, but he knew flavours and could recognise when ingredients would work well together. It was pleasing to see that Hermione had not lost her talents, either.

"A sound choice," he said, the quill scratching on the parchment as he wrote down her order.

"What are you getting? You should go all out. Get something wild."

This time he could not rein in his laugh and he chuckled, appreciating her dry, sarcastic sense of humour. Truly though, there was something new and exciting about running all the combinations through his mind.

And then he decided that he simply must get out more if deciding on a juice mixture was providing him with the same amount of thrill that a glass of Ogden's on a weeknight used to.

 _Or perhaps it is the woman beside you…_

"Mango," he said slowly, drawing it out, "and… pineapple." There was a certain danger to the choice; he could look like a dickhead, or she would laugh and reward him for joining in on her stunt.

It turned out that the faint smell of peaches that followed Hermione around most days came from her lip balm, and as she pressed her lips to his cheek with a breathless little giggle, he could feel the slickness of the fruity concoction mark his skin.

It was not unpleasant.

…

"I think she likes you."

"She only likes me because I fed her first."

"Bollocks! Look at her! I wonder if Crooks will take to you like she has."

"One feline shedding hairs on my clothes is enough, thank you very much."

"Say what you want – I think you like her, too."

"She is obviously an intelligent animal; she knows who to go to when she wants something. Isn't that right Mog?" Severus smirked when Hermione rolled her eyes. He reached for the grey striped kitten on his lap, listening to her purrs as he scratched under her chin. Despite his stern words, he cracked a smile when Mog dug her claws into his coat and stretched before laying her chin on his upper chest so the two were almost eye to eye. "Why 'Mog', anyway?" he asked, watching his reflection in the grey kitten's eyes. "It is relatively normal compared to your other familiar."

Severus liked the name; it rolled off his tongue and didn't sound too ridiculous in conversation. But most of all he liked the cadences of his wife's voice as she cooed and soothed the animal, stroking her hands over its back. She had tucked the kitten under her arm for their walk back to the cottage, forgoing the usual cage, which had left Severus to levitate their new owl's cage behind them. It was quite a sight.

"Well," Hermione said from her reading chair that was across from his, "why 'Pippin'?"

He glanced over at the small owl perched on a sturdy piece of wood that he'd found down the side of the house. Given the small size of the sitting room, he'd nailed it to the end of a bookcase, taking pleasure in doing it the Muggle way for once. And if Hermione watched him the whole time with her teeth biting down on her lower lip, well, that was their business.

"Why not?" he answered absentmindedly, his attention somewhere between the kitten on his chest and the book in his hands. "It's a nice name."

"You don't fool me, Severus," Hermione drawled, chuckling when he cocked an eyebrow in her direction. "D'you really think I haven't seen your Tolkien shelf?"

"I'd be stunned if you hadn't, considering one of your million candles is right in front of the Silmarillion."

She giggled and waved a hand in the air. "You haven't complained about the Gardenia one, though."

He wasn't about to admit that he rather liked his books carrying the scent of her. The old copy of _Potions Quarterly_ that was currently open on his lap, for example, carried a faint note of jasmine from the white candle that hovered on the wall nearby. It would've been almost a sacrilege in the past, but somewhere along the line such ideals had changed – and the protective charms on his books were almost as strong as the ones on the cottage itself. "Yes, well. Why 'Mog'?"

The witch drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair and said with her nose in a tome on Charms throughout history, "It's from a set of books my mum used to read to me when I was younger. Have you heard of them? 'Meg and Mog'?"

He clicked his tongue by way of answering and she chortled. "No, of course you haven't. Well, it's about a witch and her cat. She makes potions, she has an owl. They're fabulous, though completely nonsensical."

"And you have some sort of affinity with this… Meg?"

That set off her laughter, and she put the book down to grin at him from the other side of the coffee table. "No! I'll show you the books one day. They're very bizarre. But our little kitten here has stripes just like Mog."

"Ah." He nodded, opting to stare at the kitten instead of her, relying on his hair to hide his cheeks that had flushed pink from her use of 'our'. Mog purred; Severus watched, transfixed, as her green eyes closed. The purrs became loud rumbles – somehow the tiny thing sounded not unlike a chainsaw.

"What do I do with it now?" he questioned, wanting to get up and potter around the kitchen for a while to get the feeling back into his legs. "It's… _sleeping_ on me."

Pippin hooted, as if he had some crucial input, and Hermione snorted. She uncrossed her legs and waved her wand, extending the back of her chair so it turned into something resembling a comfortable looking recliner. "Are you a wizard or aren't you?"

He grumbled, acknowledging the point, and picked up his wand from the shelf closest to his chair. One flick had Mog floating in the air and soon enough she was settled on his wife's chest, still purring like a motor. He stood and watched the two for a moment as Hermione slowly ran her fingers over the kitten's forehead, and when his wife looked up at him he found he didn't quite know what to say.

"She's warm," Hermione whispered, with a soft smile on her lips. It was left unspoken that Mog had got that way from lying on his own chest. Severus swallowed and nodded quickly before awkwardly bowing his head and leaving the room, preferring to finish off the kitchen cabinets instead of trying to decipher the strange tingle in the air that had made itself known between himself and the witch.

The cabinets were easy enough to fix. It wasn't too different from the work he often had to do inside the house at Spinner's End; despite the reinforcing charms, magic couldn't replace sturdy construction when the home wasn't magical to begin with. Since there hadn't been much of that in his old house to begin with, he often spent breaks from the school doing odd jobs around the place.

The cottage was slightly different, in that it was almost an entirely Magical home – there were no electric lights, and though Hermione often spoke about getting food out of the fridge, there were no large white appliances in residence at all. Their fridge was the pantry; Molly Weasley had cast the spells that she herself had developed to keep the interior cold and self cleaning. The rest of the cupboards were mostly bare, with the exception of the one above the sink that housed a few tins of biscuits.

He was on his back on the floor when Hermione came into the kitchen; the banging of the hammer was too loud and he hadn't heard her enter, but he saw her bare feet come to a stop close to his sprawled legs.

"Should we paint the cupboards?" she asked, crouching down to watch as he fixed the hinges. He didn't answer immediately, choosing to pluck a nail that had been hovering in the air waiting for the moment it was needed.

When he'd finished, he eased himself out of the low cabinet and looked about. "What colour? I thought you liked orange and brown." The effort to keep his face straight was worth it when she giggled so much that she fell flat on her arse on the floor beside him. It was then that his resolve snapped and his loud laughter rang out through the kitchen as he took in the sight of his wife, flustered and mortified in a pile of limbs on the floor.

"All right?" he managed, holding onto his stomach in an effort to dull the pleasant ache that came from a good, uncommon laugh.

She looked very far from amused at first; her brows puckered and she screwed her lips up. There were bright red spots on her cheeks. "I'm fine," she grumbled, frowning at the floor.

"Oh come now wife," he said gallantly, spreading his hands. "It _was_ funny."

…

An hour later the two were still on the tiled floor, though Hermione had practiced her cushioning charms in deference to Severus' aching backside. He sat with his back against one of the orange cupboards, his legs straight out in front of him, almost touching the other side of the kitchen. There was a wine glass in his hand that contained an inch of white from a winery that he couldn't remember the name of.

Hermione sat beside him, her own glass discarded long ago in favour of munching on the salty Muggle corn chips that Potter had brought over the night before.

In a practiced movement, she held out the bag to her left and he dipped his hand in. Ensuring that he had a good amount in his grip, he nudged her shoulder and the bag returned to her lap. There were fragments of salt on the tips of their fingers.

"Will I ever remember, do you think?"

He shrugged and tipped the rest of the wine into his mouth. "I doubt it."

She surprised him by sighing and shuffling over until her head was on his shoulder. "Good."

"Good?" He couldn't blame it on the wine – he'd only had a glass – but he let his cheek rest on her hair. It scratched his skin and tickled his chin, yet he had no desire to move.

"Mmm." Hermione exhaled again. "I don't want to remember. It was just one big nightmare, and now Harry says that he wasn't around much… I mean, I understand, of course I do, but…what else have I missed? Everyone seems so _eager_ , Severus. Too eager, like they're covering something up. But why do they have this perception of me: that I'll hold it against them because they might not have visited often? I'm just…" She shook her head and burrowed her face further into his navy pyjamas – they'd gotten changed after dinner – and he couldn't help but breathe in the scent of her shampoo.

His heart hurt to see her like this, to hear her say such things. Unsure of how to proceed then remembering one hilarious evening of instruction during his youth in the dormitories, Severus raised his arm as if to stretch it then let it fall around her shoulders. She inched closer still and he smirked, a shameless and triumphant grin, glad she couldn't see it.

Hermione's arms were bare; she wore only a teal singlet and matching long cotton pants. Both were a loose fit, but he couldn't care about such modesty when her silken flesh was under his fingertips. A mumbled spell cleaned the salt away and he swallowed nervously before beginning to trace lines up and down her upper arm, dragging his short, neat nails along the fair, slightly freckled skin.

She hadn't spoken during his attempt at – what exactly? Severus had no idea in the world what he was actually doing. All he knew was that he was enjoying it, the feel of her skin and the warm weight of her body leaning against his.

He came to the conclusion that it was enough for now, this simple moment of peace, and he was thankful that Hermione, too, seemed to be willing to allow it to continue instead of turning the moment into something he was sure neither of them were prepared to deal with. Of course all of that was easier given they could not see each other; it was not unlike the act of being with a new lover for the first time with the lights dimmed. It felt safer; he wouldn't have attempted even the slightest touch if he were faced with her reaction.

Still – when she swiveled around until her legs were folded over one of his and her head was on his chest instead of his shoulder, it was a monumental struggle not to turn the languid sweetness into arousal as her breasts pressed ever so gently against the thin cotton of his shirt. Severus swallowed heavily and tilted his head back to rest it against the cupboard once more; his arm never left her shoulders.

"I don't want people to tiptoe around me, Severus. I don't _care_ if people didn't visit me. Why would I?"

"You're asking the wrong man," he admitted. "I'm not known for my… caring nature."

"You are to me," she countered softly, her voice half muffled. "You're caring to _me._ You always were."

He tried to cling to common sense, to mutter some gruff remark, but he was seized by the thought that he really didn't need to. And indeed, why should he? Was he not sitting on the kitchen floor, his arm around his wife who had professed repeatedly that she wished for them to stay together, if at least for the time being? Was he not allowed this? This moment of… whatever it was?

It took more breath and time than it probably should have to formulate the response, but it came in a low, steady tone as he said, "Only to you, Hermione."

"Oh I don't think that's true," she said immediately, reaching around with a daring hand to encircle his waist. Like coal on a fire, it was futile to resist her; it was pointless. When she squeezed his side, he remembered to breathe again. "I know that you think that," she continued, "but you care more than most. You were always so brave, Severus, and selfless."

He snorted, intruding on the delicate declaration. "Selfless is not a word that can be applied to m-"

"It can and it will," said Hermione. "I think I can decide what adjectives I can use for you. And even in hospital… during the times I can recall, anyway… I was never so far gone that I didn't recognise just how much strength you were giving, even then. Not lending – you gave it. You didn't expect anything back. Even now!" She pushed herself off of him with two open palms and in the blink of an eye, Hermione's face was a mere hair's breadth away. She was so close that he could barely concentrate on anything that wasn't her eyes or lips. "Even now you're here and you expect _nothing._ "

He couldn't respond. He wouldn't; for once, he didn't feel the need to protest. It wasn't that he believed what she was saying – far from it – but he was familiar with the glint in her chocolate eyes and had no inclination to let her chase him into agreeing with her.

Instead he stayed silent, drinking her in. Her hair already seemed to have grown and it was wilder than ever; the way his shirt had folded over under her cheek was exposed by the faint red lines on her face.

Severus wanted to kiss her. It was far beyond rational desire; there was barely any thought involved. The closeness of her – his _wife_ – and the total contentment of it all called to him like a siren's song.

Hermione touched his cheek with cold fingers. "Do you know why I don't care?" she whispered. He could almost steal her breath. It was a struggle to tell her not to tell him, because then he would have to think on her words, to use his brain when he had no wish to. It was a struggle that he lost.

"No," he said, almost warily. "I don't know."

If she was disappointed with his answer, she didn't show it. It looked like she was amused, as if she'd hoped for his usual ineptness around all things emotional to make itself known again.

"Well," she whispered back, "I think you can come up with a reason, if you think about it."

"What if I don't want to think?" he asked without considering the words. It came out in a breathless rush of speech. He was of a mind to take it back – Obliviate her if he had to – but Hermione smiled, a small smile almost of wonder (dare he say awe?). She stared at him with the strange little smile, almost like she was waiting for something though he knew not what it was.

Again his eyes wandered down to her mouth, at how her lips looked so soft and pink in the low light of the candles. Without realising that he'd done it, he wet his own lips, seeking relief from their sudden dryness and not noticing at all that she was moving closer –

She kissed him.

It was the most delicate kiss he had ever experienced; her eyes were closed and her hands stayed at her sides.

At first he could barely process that it was happening and then by the time he did, the pressure of her lips was already easing off and he knew she would pull away. Suddenly desperate to make his own desires known, he pressed back, giving her no finesse at all. He chased her lips, pushing his mouth on hers, making no attempt to take it further. There was hardly any way to breath – he hadn't tilted his head enough to cater for his nose – but he was loath to stop, to do anything that meant he would no longer feel her lips.

As soon as it had begun, it ended.

Hermione withdrew; a bright pink blush bloomed on her cheeks and disappeared beneath the singlet.

Severus stared at her, dazed and speechless. His lips tingled.

And then after her daring feat, his wife covered her mouth and looked away, though he noted how her eyes crinkled at the corners from a secretive, shy smile.

"Well," she said, barely a shake to her voice, "goodnight, Severus."

Unable to even return her parting words, Severus offered her a feeble nod.

It was only after she hurried out of the kitchen with a smile on her face from ear to ear that he sank back against the cabinet, touched a finger to his lips and grinned.


	14. Chapter 14

**_A/N:_** _Please note the date of the flashbacks. We are in 1998 now and we are not done with our memories just yet. A warning for some crude language here, and for those that prefer to skip more detailed love scenes, please keep that in mind from the next chapter onwards. Please forgive any grammatical mistakes – I check everything carefully, but am very much in need of glasses that I have not yet had the time to organise._

 _And… as for the two cliffhangers, I do solemnly swear that I am up to a lot of good ;-)_

* * *

 **Chapter 14**

I'll know you by the thunderclap

Pouring like a rain of blood to my emotions

And that is why

I stumble to my knees.

 _Crowded House_

* * *

 ** _1998_**

"Are there any further questions?"

Severus cast a bored look around the room, the wariness he was accustomed to during staff meetings well hidden behind his mental shields. He could expect a godawful headache for his efforts, but it was either that or get out his wand.

Whereas once attending a meeting in the staff room had been tedious and more often than that, a waste of time, there was still a sense of order about the whole thing. Apart from Albus' horrendously ridiculous habits, the meetings managed to stay mostly professional.

Yet here Severus was: the current – and very reluctant – Headmaster of Hogwarts, and he was wishing for nothing more than the return to those old dull days of mind numbingly boring meetings. Anything would be better than having to rein in the Carrows, both currently sitting at one end of the table, twirling their wands around. Contrary to his own initial assumption, they were not particularly loud, nor did they often disrupt the room.

No; they were worse.

They were beady-eyed and silent; they were constantly observing not only the rest of the staff, but Severus as well. For while they were not even close to his own status within the inner circle of the Death Eaters, they were certainly interested in climbing up the ladder, no matter who they trod on to get there.

The staff had learned quickly not to speak out whilst the Carrows were around. There had been nothing Severus could do about it, no warnings he could give, but thankfully the twins' quietly snarled death threats and hexing of notable students of the more vocal teachers had them all keeping their mouths shut.

Severus now eyed the brother and sister, who sat entirely too close together for comfort. He suppressed a shudder of revulsion and stood, his palms on the table as he leaned forward and turned his examining gaze onto each teacher that sat along the rectangular table.

"Before we leave this meeting, I find it… _disappointing_ that I must continue to remind you all about the importance of discipline." He lowered his voice until it was barely above a whisper. " _All_ punishments _must_ be approved. I am aware of _everything_ that occurs inside of this school, and you can be assured that I will not hesitate to take matters into my own hands if teachers are found to be handling their own detentions privately. As per usual," he added blankly, "cooperation ensures that the school can continue to be the success that it _now_ is. Remember that none of you are… indispensable."

 _And also as per usual,_ he noted, _not one bloody senior teacher has even picked up on yet another hint._ For how else could he be aware of everything going on in the school, unless the school itself believed him the rightful Headmaster? Umbridge hadn't been able to enter into the office – he had! The ruddy fools had no idea, nor would they ever if their scowls and sneers were anything to go by.

Good riddance to the lot of them.

"Enough," he muttered. "This meeting is over."

They filed out one by one. He ground his teeth together, his fingers holding onto his wand with a vice like grip as the Carrows moved past him.

"Quality meetin'," Amycus drawled, curling his lip as he smirked. "Piss-poor methods though mate. A bit of torture never goes astray with," he paused and looked over his shoulder at Minerva, "…with old bitches like these. Got to break 'em before they'll come 'round, eh?"

Severus could sense Minerva's gaze, though he refused to meet it. He knew exactly where her thoughts had gone, and if he could just fob Amycus off before he started to talk again-

"Say," the halfwit continued, "it'd be just like your Mudblood bride, eh? She was good for it, wasn't she, by the time you were done with 'er? I might just get me a little bird like that – all prim and proper, mine for the takin'. She was good, wasn't she? The Mudblood?"

The insinuations were so blatantly obvious that it was an effort not to silence the man immediately. Still, Alecto was lurking at the doorway with her wide, calculating eyes and he knew he had no choice. Only Albus and Riddle knew about his supposed _impotence –_ at some level, the Dark Lord even _enjoyed_ having a right hand man that was as physically inept as he himself was. In turn, it was just one more piece of personal information that Riddle 'had' on Severus. The slimy git played his followers like an award winning conductor. His meetings were full of clever speeches and vibrant promises, yet when the work was done, he ruled them by his own iron fisted brand of manipulation. Sex was generally not a weapon used by Riddle himself – oh no, Mudbloods were too unclean for him to proclaim them as acceptable vessels and _violence_ was more to the point.

But that was not to say that the Dark Lord's followers, particularly those outside of the inner circle, did not partake in such things.

Turning to stare directly at Minerva's distraught features, Severus sneered, "My bride was… _sufficient._ A pity that she ran away…"

 _Stop talking, stop talking,_ he begged silently, knowing that Minerva would never, ever forgive him this. Their relationship had never been particularly strong, but Minerva could hold a grudge almost as well as Albus. If he managed to live through the war, she would never forget this slight.

The rest of his mind was caught in something like a whirlwind of thoughts that all screamed that it was the best thing – the very best thing – that Hermione had left the school. If she were to see him like this, speaking these words…

Alas, it was of no use.

"Oh yes, a pity," Amycus leered. "Still – she was good for it? Not up for it, not those haughty Mudbloods, not that it matters, eh?"

And Severus severed whatever threads of friendship that could've been left with Minerva with a firmly spoken, "Indeed."

The way the old witch staggered out of the room, her hand over her mouth and an arm out to the wall to support her steps was enough to send him to his office. One day soon Amycus would 'come down' with a stomach upset again, but until then, the united front that he had to present sickened him right through to his soul.

The half full bottle of whiskey in his sitting room was empty within the hour.

…

The next day brought with it the same never ending headache, and the day after that was no different.

Had there ever been anything more draining? Severus was inclined to think that his entire miserable existence had been preparing him for this – the time where there was not a soul that didn't loath him, that didn't think him capable of the most horrendous acts. Surely even Hermione now would be moved to empty out her stomach if she ever remembered how she'd massaged his greasy head so tenderly, or touched his murdering hands so gently.

Fuck Tom Riddle, and fuck Albus Dumbledore for making him cast the damned killing curse.

Halfway through brushing his teeth, Severus slammed his palm down on the vanity. If the barmy old sod hadn't put on that bloody ring…

There was no use thinking on it.

He finished his evening ablutions and ran his hands through his hair. Surveying the vials in the first drawer, he calculated that finally, _finally,_ he could down a good dose of Dreamless Sleep. It was addictive, and lost its potency the more the body became used to it, and since he had first taken up the office, Severus had tracked his use meticulously so he would keep being able to have one full night's rest every now and then.

Severus walked out of the bathroom, rolling the vial between his hands. His bed called and he stumbled towards it, shivering despite the warming charms. It was snowing outside, and his warm grey plaid pyjamas would hold up under the covers but were hopeless while walking across the stone floor.

A weary groan left his lips as he pulled down the covers and stared at the soft sheets. He was so tired that he almost fell onto the bed as he uncorked the vial. He brought it to his lips, savouring the scent of it with a faint smile of relief, but just as he was about to tip it into his mouth-

"What the f–"

The _crack!_ of someone Apparating into his private quarters made his hands shake with fear.

The vial slipped out of his grasp and for a moment that felt like minutes but was really just a shred of a second, Severus watched as it seeped out onto the white cotton covered mattress.

It couldn't be the Dark Lord.

Even on a bad day, the bastard had more finesse than that.

No – he reached out with his magic and _knew_ that whoever had just landed in his sitting room on the other side of the door wasn't dark at all.

The fear dissipated, quickly replaced by a sickening, twisted hope that made his heart hurt as he shoved the covers away and sprinted to the door, throwing it open to see-

"Hermione!"

…

Anger came quickly.

"What the _hell_ are you doing, girl? Do you even understand just how dangerous this is –" He cut himself off. He couldn't complete the sentence.

She stood in the centre of the room, trembling.

Her hair was a mess; her clothes were dirty and hung from her frame. She was pale, close to gaunt, and there were shadows under her eyes that rivalled his.

 _And yet,_ he realised, _she has come to_ you.

He moved further into the room, coming to a stop a few feet away from her. Hermione had not said a word, but her eyes followed his every step; her lips were pressed firmly together and her chest was heaving. Her wand was pointed towards his chest.

"Are you going to hurt me? I'm s-still your _spouse,_ and the wards will let me right out of here in the next second if you are. Are you?" she bit out, her thin, shrill voice breaking at the end. She pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration, a familiar gesture that caused him to wince. There were tears in her eyes but her stubborn scowl kept them from spilling over onto her sunken cheeks.

She looked like hell.

He could continue the charade – yell at her, curse her, insult her until she ran back to whatever hovel she'd escaped to come here, to him. He _should_ do it.

Severus found that he couldn't.

He sighed. "No, Hermione. I'm not… I couldn't ever… I will _not_ hurt you."

He took one step closer, then another, and held his hands up in a gesture of… what, he did not know. But for all of her fright, for all of her skittishness, she turned to him with a movement so graceful that he closed the distance between them without a word. She came to him silently, throwing her body between his arms that were outstretched, ready to receive her.

All he could do was hold her, bury his face in her hair and hope she did not feel the kiss he pressed to her trembling head.

…

 ** _2001_**

The kiss changed everything and nothing at all. It drove him mad.

But this madness… it was exciting; _fascinating._

It had been so long since he had felt anything like this – or was it more that he never had? There had been women, yes, but desiring, dreaming and yearning for his _wife_ was entirely different.

Severus was often wary of greed – the often treacherous emotion had been no friend to him in the past. Any dalliances (of which there were few, enough to count on both hands with no need to keep recycling fingers) after the disaster that was Lily were with _safe_ women, where safe meant women that would never want more of him than a quick tumble. That suited him well enough; he kept his heart well hidden.

And for all of the years before his world was rearranged and thrown into something resembling a blender during that afternoon in Albus' office when he had learned about his impending nuptials, he had done well to safeguard his heart.

Until now.

Until _her._

For the first time, there was a woman in the world that was _joined_ to him. Even the way he should politely introduce her to others was marked by possessiveness – 'this is _my_ wife.' And she, too, would let such words slip from her lips – 'this is _my_ husband.'

She was his, and he was hers.

And by all the gods, since the time her lips had pressed so carefully against his on the kitchen floor, he wanted to _truly_ have her. Not just have her use his last name, the odd sounding _Snape_ tacked on so proudly after her scrawled Hermione. Not just have her wear his ring, the thin gold band that she still wore.

No; none of those things were enough anymore.

Severus wanted to possess her; he wanted to wake each morning, reach out a hand and find her body only inches away. He wanted to ignore the bed in the bloody uncomfortable spare room with its too low ceiling and share hers, to let his bare feet sink into the plush lilac rug, to sleep curled around her.

Which was all rather interesting, considering that such desires had slammed into him all at once, filling him with the suspicion that perhaps he had been entertaining these things for much longer than he cared to admit. And they _were_ feelings – feelings that seemed a little like…

No. He wouldn't think on _that._

Not yet.

During the beginning of their marriage, he would've felt like a fool for even acknowledging such sentiments. Hermione had been nothing more than a _girl_ trying to make the best of her situation. He didn't entertain the thought, even for a moment, that she fully understood who he truly was in those days. Of course she hadn't – by design, no one else had either.

Yet here they were, playing house, living to no expectations except for their own. He was free to grumble and scowl in the mornings before he could enjoy the breakfast spread at Hogwarts, and she was welcome to throw herself into reading the entirety of his library, as she had begun to do the Sunday morning after what had come to be remembered by Severus as 'The Kiss'.

Bloody Merlin, he should just transfigure his bedroom ceiling to resemble the Klimt piece – it would be more apt, considering how many nights he spent lying awake recalling it.

After 'The Kiss', it felt like he could cut the tension between them with a knife. Each day was more complex than the next; they danced around each other, neither of them sure how to best address the pink frocked elephant in the room.

Severus _wanted_ to address it – he wanted to do _more_ than just address it. From the moment he awoke in the mornings, thrusting his erection into the mattress thanks to yet another exquisite dream, to when he would stick his head into her room and bid her farewell for the day, he was _filled_ with yearning for her.

Hermione, too, left him flummoxed each night when she would drag up a stack of parchment to her bedroom – she'd agreed to officially become Neville's research assistant for the time being, and books were stacked on every flat surface on both levels of their home. Severus was far from perturbed; truly, what bloke didn't mind leafing through a new text from the shelf in the loo in the mornings?

But the temptress that was his wife wasn't just concerned with depositing books everywhere.

No, no. Hermione Snape seemed to be far more concerned with offering him a murmured, "Goodnight, Severus," followed by a teasing press of her lips to his cheek whenever she went to her bed. He couldn't even bring himself to change the status quo – the game she was playing was so delectably enticing that he only wanted _more_ of it. Yet the ball was in her court; he was determined to move in a way that matched Hermione's pace, and if she was content with kissing his cheek each night while he was going half mad save for a desperate wank most mornings, then so be it.

…

She had taken to visiting Frank and Alice in St. Mungo's three times a week. At first, Severus had been quietly reluctant, concerned that she would slip into melancholy at nights or during the days, but Neville and Minerva (to his utmost surprise) organised access for his wife to the Hogwarts library. When she wasn't at the hospital or working at home, he could often find her right at the back of the library, tucked into a cubicle beside a stained glass window.

It was wonderful.

There was no need to brood over how she was faring on her own at home, and he already had a few options for another trial. Neville was ecstatic most days – the boy barely bothered to hide the spring in his step, a byproduct of having the assistance of the brightest witch in England. Which was, of course, nothing compared to the probably improper, prideful smirk that Severus had on his face each time he heard students whispering of the war hero that had taken up residence in their library.

She was too shy to take lunch at the staff table in the Great Hall, but it didn't bother him – Hermione instead ate in his quarters in the dungeons, and he managed to always finish his own meal in record time so as to have a cup of tea with her before classes resumed. She had nervously asked if he was all right with such an arrangement, her in his old rooms without him around, and it had taken all of his considerable restraint to avoid saying that working in his office or private lab with her scent in the air was making these days some of the best he'd ever spent at the castle.

It wasn't just her steady presence at the castle that left Severus feeling lighter. Hermione had begun to insert herself into his daily routines in a way that left a grin on his face, something that unnerved his students. He would open his notebook of lecture notes to see a charmed drawing of a flower opening and closing, or there would be a small vial of perfumed oil left on his desk from her experiments. Never one to waste ingredients, if something wasn't working correctly, Hermione simply adjusted its purpose.

Ingredients were not the only thing that his wife appropriated; Tink became her right hand elf. The winking little _thing_ popped up at all hours with a cup of steaming hot tea, or (much to his students' amusement when the elf once mistimed his offering) a freshly mixed juice. Sometimes small bits of parchment accompanied them, with her neat scrawl spelling missives such as, 'Enjoy x' or 'For you – just the way you like it'.

Severus was almost entirely sure that he was being _wooed._

He rather liked it.

…

Weekends were another matter.

Weekends were torture – sweet, agonising torture.

Oh, he had marking of course, but Hermione enjoyed charming her quill to match his handwriting and he indulged her most nights. It was a release of sorts, a humorous one – her remarks on his first to third years were often more succinct than even his, but just as witty.

So he didn't have marking, then. Not really.

Truthfully, there was not much in the cottage that could be used as a way to distract him from the overwhelming desire to take his wife to bed.

Why didn't he?

 _Good question,_ he mused sardonically as he turned over in bed. It had now been over four weeks since 'The Kiss' – why hadn't he done something about it?

There were a million answers to the question. Half were probably in the right direction, a quarter were more than likely true but there was no hope in pinning anything concrete down for long enough to analyse it.

His mind was a mess. _He_ was a mess. He wanted her to come to him, purely because he felt he needed to be careful around a woman that had only recently come out of a three year stint in hospital, but then he wanted to be the one to go _to_ her, too. After all of this time, having the freedom to actually enjoy her attention and return it in some form was marvellous.

It was hopeless. Severus grunted and rubbed a hand over his forehead, offering a few unintelligible grumbles to the night air as he tried to get comfortable enough to fall asleep.

But then…

Severus sat up in bed and cocked his head to the side.

"What on earth was that?" he mumbled to himself, straining to hear what had seemed very much like a moan coming from down the hall.

There was nothing for a long minute or two but soon enough, he heard it again.

It wasn't a moan… he listened hard, but he couldn't quite decide just what he was hearing until a loud, strangled gasp filled the air.

A nightmare, then.

Severus was out of bed in the blink of an eye. He pulled on the pyjama pants discarded in a pile on the floor, dithered over donning the matching shirt then dropped it and hurtled out of the door when another gasp reached his ears.

Her nightmares were a weekly occurrence at least – an unfortunate side effect from the many failed trials that she had suffered through, and at first this sounded like any other.

He slowed his steps as he reached her door in case she fell asleep on her own again, but he paused as if stunned when another sound broke through the wooden barrier.

"Oh – _oh –_ oh, oh, oh…"

 _Couldn't be…_ He inched closer to the door.

He held his breath…

 _Oh gods… oh, gods –_ "Fuck," he breathed, heart pounding as he put a hand over his mouth, unable to make himself move away from the door after he heard it.

And he had heard it.

He _knew_ he had.

And there it was again. He almost staggered with the weight of it, just those three little words-

"Oh, gods – Severus!"


	15. Chapter 15

**_A/N:_** _Thank you to the lovely orlando switch for the 'doubter'. From my conversations with this gorgeous reader, I have learnt that this term is often used in Holland to refer to older, smaller double beds. I found it so charming that I couldn't resist using it here._

 _Forgive me please - I cannot reply to all reviews for the last chapter. The small person of our household hasn't been sleeping well and computer time has been few and far between. Thank you to everyone who is reading and enjoying the story! I am so thrilled with all of the responses._

* * *

 **Chapter 15**

Darlin' you've got to let me know,

Should I stay or should I go?

If you say that you are mine,

I'll be here 'til the end of time.

 _The Clash_

* * *

"And then what did you do?"

Severus groaned and leant forward in his chair until his forehead met the cool surface of his desk. " _Imighthavegonebacktobed_."

"Repeat that," Poppy deadpanned. "Go on. Say it again." She was perched on the edge of the chair opposite his desk. He'd altered the story somewhat, giving the impression that his wife had been dreaming rather than the more… explosive version that he knew to be true.

"I _said,_ " he hissed, "I went back to bed. And," he added, still avoiding her gaze but anticipating her growl of displeasure, "I won't hear one more word about it!"

"Should've told someone else, then!" she sniffed. "You're a bloody fool, boy. I do love you – oh, don't give me that look – but at forty one, don't you think it's time to get your head out of your arse and smell the lilacs?"

"Poppy, you've got the saying all wrong again-"

The older witch slammed her hands down on the desk and shot him a glower that instantly reduced him to an awkward thirteen year old sod again. "Surely you do not mean to tell me, Severus Snape, that you haven't noticed how much the poor girl is head over heels for you?"

"I really don't think-"

"Sod what you think! I haven't seen any indications that you're in your right mind at all." Poppy flopped back into the chair. "Severus, it's now _Friday._ This occurred on _Tuesday._ "

"Your point?"

She shook her head and removed her cap before saying, "Good grief. You've been letting her stew on it, haven't you? That poor, poor girl!"

"Poor?" Suddenly the injustice of it all crashed over him and he found himself standing. "I'm the bloody poor one! Stuck in a house with an attractive woman who happens to be _married_ to me, and I can't _do anything_ about it!"

"Did you fall down here the last time it rained? What on earth made you think that you couldn't _do_ anything about it?!"

"She's only just recovered!" he exclaimed, drawing back. "The _last_ thing she needs is –"

Severus watched, his lips twisted into a scowl as Poppy nodded slowly and held up her hand. Her usually harsh voice softened along with her gaze. "Ah. Wait a minute."

He wasn't of a mind to wait. Severus was almost entirely sure that it was Hermione who needed to buck up and speak to him first, and it wasn't out of a lack of confidence. He'd been shy for too many years to resort to that with his own damn wife, but there was not a chance that he was about to attempt something that she might not be emotionally ready for. It was, as far as he was concerned, the most sensible and sensitive way to approach it.

Still, Poppy stared him down until he huffed and settled himself back in the chair.

"I think," she began delicately, "that you're coming at this from the wrong direction, Severus." The witch tapped her chin as she planned her next words then said carefully, "What if instead of being the last thing Hermione needs, she considers it to be the _only_ thing she needs? Don't object just yet," she ordered, waving a hand towards his frown. Severus closed his eyes and nodded, resigned to her meddling.

"Think about it," Poppy continued. "Hermione has had _three years_ to come to terms with the fact that you're her husband. I say three years because we all know you barely gave that girl the time of day when you were both here. She remembers your visits, and she knew you were hers. Now she's well again and can you even _imagine_ how eager she would be to just get _moving?_ She's found some work, you've got the house, and you've got that ruddy cat. The only thing she _doesn't_ have is her husband!"

"She does!" he protested. "I'm there every day!"

"No you're bloody well not, boy!" Poppy fumed, resorting to stamping her foot on the dungeon floor. "I'm not going to spell it out for you – oh sod it, yes I am! How many more hints can she give you? If you don't take her to bed soon, you're going to drive her mad!"

He couldn't breathe; couldn't think.

Instead he sat there as if petrified, staring at Poppy with all of the shock that was coursing through his veins.

"I've been a right fool," muttered Severus, wiping both hands over his face. "Bloody hell."

The nurse who had known him for longer than his own mother crossed her arms and grinned. "Judging by your face, I think it's high time you went home."

"I can't Apparate," he breathed immediately. "I'll splinch myself or I'll end up in the middle of the bloody lake."

"Well what are you waiting for then?" she pressed. He looked up at her, rising to his feet at the same time that Poppy extended an arm towards the door. "Go to her, Severus! You have a fully functioning pair of legs."

"No time," he hurled back then herded her out of the office, ignoring her knowing smirk. As soon as Poppy was out of the room, Severus looked down at his robes and smoothed his hands down over the fine wool.

He allowed himself one deep breath to quell the nerves. Truthfully, while Poppy had mentioned Hermione being wary of wasting time, Severus didn't believe that for a second. After the bizarre experience of being married to a student then caring for her for years, slowing down this new joined life was vital. Hurtling into something would never have worked; no matter how much he desired her, or how strongly she might return such feelings, he was _glad_ because of each delicate moment they'd shared.

They _deserved_ to relax. After the war, they were damn well entitled to take their time.

And Severus had enjoyed it – oh yes, he certainly had never felt perturbed by looking up from his book to see his wife glancing at him from under her lashes, or to finally know how it felt to intentionally brush past her in the kitchen, their bodies pressed against each other for one fleeting second.

If she had been wooing him, then at the very least, he had let her know that it was welcome.

Despite Poppy's exasperated remarks, Severus was no idiot. Though sometimes a fresh, albeit subjective, opinion could be useful.

He tugged on his collar and cleared his throat.

"Tink!"

…

Hermione dropped the leaflet she'd been reading while standing in the kitchen and shrieked when he flashed into existence at her side.

"Sorry," Severus muttered, turning away to hide his grin.

His wife shook her head, seemingly gathering her thoughts, and elbowed his side. "Were the roads busy? Too much traffic for a Friday evening?"

He was already moving out of the kitchen, intent on a shower before broaching the intriguing subject of attraction. Still, he laughed, pausing only quickly to throw over his shoulder, "Not at all. I have a pressing matter to attend to."

"Oh?" Hermione trailed after him, stopping at the foot of the stairs and eyeing his retreating figure. "A pressing matter?"

The flash of curiosity in her eyes was gratifying and spurred a self-satisfied grin to light his features. "Indeed," he remarked slyly, closing the door to the bathroom so he wouldn't be tempted to hurry back down the stairs to the enticing woman on the ground floor.

As the hot water cascaded over his skin, he pictured her face, so open and welcoming. _This_ was what he wanted – to return home to see a woman, _his woman,_ smiling purely because of his presence. Severus had always thought it utterly impossible, that such a woman like her would ever react to him in such a way. She was so young, so bright – all the better to see her, he supposed, considering his own penchant for dark attire. Next to him, she was positively radiant; and yet, there was a strangeness about her. A kinder man would name her unique, but he knew that in his wife he had found a woman that didn't quite fit in as well as others assumed that she did. It was far from off putting – it only endeared her to him further.

He scrubbed the residue of the day's work from his skin, his hands halting on their way to his scalp then continuing on as he shrugged. _May as well._ Choosing one of his own nondescript bottles from the shelf, he washed and rinsed his hair, noting with surprise that he'd forgotten to have Tink cut it since Hermione's release from hospital. It came to rest just past his shoulders; perhaps his wife preferred it this way. She often smoothed a hand over it, after all. He left the shower with the mental note to procure some leather bands to tie it back.

…

Tink's idea of subtlety was outrageous. He'd asked for a quiet dinner, yet by the time he came downstairs in a fresh pair of trousers and a navy silk shirt, Hermione was staring at the table with a dazed expression on her face.

"Too much?" he asked in a low voice, trying to decipher the curious look in her eyes. The candles on the table gave a soft light to the sitting room, making shadows dance over the wall. Hermione's wide brown eyes reflected the flames; they flickered over the whiskey coloured orbs, framed by thick black lashes. The fine china plates and crystal glasses could only have come from Hogwarts; the lilacs in a vase in the center were straight from his private garden not far from his old quarters.

She turned to him slowly, her head tilted to the side. He watched as her features displayed her emotions, beginning first at wonder to curiosity then, if he could even believe it, admiration and desire.

"You look lovely," she breathed, eyes drinking in every inch of his frame. Severus allowed a small smirk to escape.

"Thank you." He inclined his head and extended a hand. "Would you join me for dinner?"

"Like this? No!" she cried, wringing her hands. "Give me five minutes. No – ten!" Her voice disappeared as she pounded up the stairs, obviously intent on changing out of her usual jeans and comfortable shirt to something befitting of the occasion.

Not that there was an occasion.

But he rather hoped that this night might mark one to be remembered in the future.

"Tink?" he hissed as soon as the shower was turned on upstairs. The elf appeared with a triumphant expression that morphed immediately into one of defiance. "You were supposed to be _subtle!_ This is about as subtle as what I would get if I allowed _Hagrid_ to make the arrangements."

The elf glanced at the table. "This is being subtle, Master! Tink _is_ being subtle!"

"Well it's too late to change it now – she's already seen it! Christ, am I going to have to do this," he thrust his hand towards the table, "every night?"

"Master should romance Madam Snape at least four times a week!"

"Good bloody lord," Severus grumbled. "Where'd you learn that?"

"None of Master's business," the elf shot back.

Severus blinked. "Did you just –"

"And Tink is also changing the doubter, Master!" Tink's chest puffed up and his big ears wiggled. "Madam Snape and Master Snape will be very happy!"

"I haven't the faintest idea what a ruddy 'doubter' is, Tink, but if you're so good at romancing, then why haven't you fixed my ceiling, hmm?"

"Too old," Tink evaded, staring at the stairs. "Tink isn't sorry. Master will just have to use the main bedroom."

"Tink!" Severus growled, clenching his fists. "You are setting the bar quite high for the beginnings of a courtship and –"

"Master is married!" Tink cried. "Master is married and Tink will fix the doubter and Tink won't fix the ceiling!"

"What is the bloody doubter!"

"Tink is glad Master is asking!" The elf made a wobbly bow, much to Severus' exasperation. "The doubter is neither here nor there – it's not sure what it wants to be! For one person or two. It's doubting. Doesn't Master see? The doubter is needing some help, just like Master and his wife!"

"I could throttle you," hissed Severus. "If you ruin this, I swear I'll –"

"Severus?"

Man and elf eyed each other warily at the sound of Hermione's voice.

"Severus, I'll just be one more moment!"

"Of course, wife," he returned, miming a crude gesture in the elf's direction. "Take your time!"

To his credit, Tink merely winked and shrugged his thin shoulders. "Master will see! Master will be very happy!"

And in the next moment, the elf was gone.

…

He had to ask her. The question couldn't be held back; Hermione was stunning. She was sitting opposite him in a chocolate brown dress that matched her eyes and bared her shoulders, making his mouth dry from all of the newly revealed silken flesh.

His wife was beautiful.

Severus had always known this – as well as he knew his craft, he knew that Hermione was beautiful. But having her here, displaying her beauty for _him_ was… more than he could ever have hoped for.

They spoke softly to each other, most of the words having barely any meaning beyond polite trivialities. At least, they would have no meaning to anyone else. For Severus, he found that he genuinely enjoyed listening to her speculate on avenues of research that she may have missed, or the way she tittered as she shared random little tidbits from her day at the hospital. In turn, she gave him her undivided attention; everything he said was thought over and commented on.

It wasn't hard to make a man like Severus feel valued and appreciated, yet he knew that she did it without even trying.

Still, he had to ask.

When their plates had vanished and he'd taken a fortifying sip of wine, he tackled it head on.

"Hermione?"

She set down the dessert spoon that had been used to punctuate her latest point and smiled. "Severus."

Steadily he asked her, "Do you feel obligated to me?"

It was clear that Hermione had either been deliberating over this very subject or she had expected him to bring it up. He didn't know how to feel about that. She was so calm as she stared at him with a faint smile; like he was laid bare and she knew all of his secrets. Underneath the table, his fingers gripped the fabric of his trousers.

"I don't," she said simply. "Do you think I should?"

Severus leaned back in the chair, narrowing his eyes as he mulled it over. "Perhaps."

"Well, that isn't an answer now, is it?" Her voice stayed low and teasing. "Would you care to explain?"

"Not particularly," he answered, "for I do not have any solid reasons."

"Only possibilities?"

He inclined his head. "Indeed."

"All right," she said, rolling her shoulders. "I've done my research, you know."

Intrigued, he raised his eyebrows. "Have you now? Research on what? Me?"

"Yes, husband." Hermione smirked, though the twist of her lips contained none of the venom that his would usually feature. He tried to brush off the thrill that he felt upon hearing her take on his habit and refer to him by his title and role. The brush off failed.

"You're grinning like the cat that got the cream," Hermione remarked, her own smirk widening. "But yes – I've done my research on you. Not with any real life case studies, mind, just my own observations."

"So you haven't had little chats with Poppy, then?"

She spread her hands then joined them, resting her chin on her linked fingers. "Oh, we've had chats, but not about you. Regardless, we're off track. My point is that I know you. You think I should feel obligated to you because of this," she waved a hand around the room, "and because of you visiting me over the years. You think that _I_ think I am indebted to you. That I've been doing all of…" She faltered finally, her confidence tapering off for a moment as she gathered her courage to refer to the wooing, which had previously gone unmentioned. He stayed silent.

Hermione tapped her cheek as she thought, then smiled again and said, "You think that I'm attracted to you, that I care for you, because I feel that I should."

 _She can read me like a book,_ he realised, stunned that he felt no discomfort at all. No, discomfort was not what had made him sit rigidly still, his mouth open wide and his heart pounding.

He was absolutely thrilled!

Severus got straight to the point. "You're attracted to me?"

"Isn't that obvious?" she crowed. "I am! I _always_ have been!" At this, she looked to the side, suddenly shy. He took that as a sign that he should take over somehow and though he had no clue on how to do so, Severus decided to trust his instincts.

He slid out of the chair and rose to his feet. "I wish to try something," he announced, examining her reaction and biting back a grin when she all but leapt to her feet and nodded eagerly.

"Yes, yes," she agreed. "Let's… let's try something."

As if by some unspoken agreement, they threaded their way around the chairs and came to stand together in the middle of the small sitting room. A wave of his hand extinguished the candles on the table, and Hermione's skin glowed from the light of the fire.

Severus trailed the back of his hand down her cheek, feeling the softness of her skin. The wedding band on his ring finger glided from her cheekbone to her neck. Her hair was loose; the chestnut strands tickled his fingers.

"Hermione," he whispered, smiling down at her. "Would you let me… May I kiss you, wife?"

The words sounded ridiculous – asking permission from his wife, of all people – but he wanted to do this properly. To show her, even if he lacked the verbal talent to explain, that he wanted this.

Because he did. More than anything, Severus wanted his wife.

Hermione returned his smile and before he could remove his hand from her cheek, she reached up and pressed it to her face, turning to place a small kiss on his wrist. Her tongue darted out to taste him, and Severus was undone.

"I would _love_ it if you would," she said, pressing her trembling lips together.

The first touch of his mouth to hers was hesitant. He kissed her once then drew back, grinning at her mewl of disappointment. It was all that he needed.

Cradling her face between his hands, he kissed her again, overcome with the need to know the flavour of her mouth, her tongue. When she opened for him, her tongue slipping into his mouth before he could even attempt the movement himself, he groaned at the sweetness of his wife.

Before he could even register the intent to do so, his fingers were digging into her backside, pulling her flush against his body. She moaned, her arms around his neck tightening, and his desire for her rose until he could no longer hold himself back.

Severus broke away, relishing the way she tipped her head back as he kissed and nipped the skin that her dress displayed. He knew of a base craving to mark her as his, to sink his teeth into her neck and suck until red bloomed under his laving tongue.

"Do it, oh, Severus – please," whispered Hermione, grinding herself against his erection. "I want you to do it."

He satisfied her, his fingers in her hair as he backed them towards the stairs. She clutched at his shirt, her nails digging into his shoulder-blades.

"Bed, bed," she chanted, pulling his face back to hers. He reveled in her responsiveness, in the passionate and fierce kiss that she granted him when he chuckled. Severus took her in his arms to begin the trek to her room on the second floor. There was no chance that the bed in the spare room would fit two.

"Not too soon?" he mumbled against her lips, memorising her giggle as he kicked the door shut with his foot and felt around for the zipper of her dress. "Are you sure?"

"Oh god," she breathed, "Severus, I've wanted this since we were wed. Don't you even _think_ of st-"

His delighted laugh made her stop mid command and she blinked owlishly then smirked, her eyes containing a thousand secrets of femininity that he wanted to spend his life learning. To think that he could have done this years ago!

"You're laughing at me," said Hermione flatly, backing towards the bed with a devilish smile playing on her lips. "Should I punish you?"

"On the contrary, madam," he returned, rubbing his hands together, "I do not think that anything in this room could ever amount to punishment."

"Oho!" she cried, chortling as she reached behind her back. He made to move forward, to discover the elegant curve of her back for himself, but she wagged a finger in the air. "Tut, tut," Hermione drawled. "You laughed, husband."

He groaned, the impatience becoming excruciating but he couldn't find any will to stop her. The way that she had turned away from him to allow her dress to fall to the floor was delicious. She bared her body to him with quiet confidence, looking at him from over her shoulder. He ached to go to her, to touch her, to make love to her.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, tracing the lines of her body with his eyes. "So very, very lovely, wife."

"Do you want to look?" she asked, grinning impishly when he clumsily pulled his shirt over his head and sat down heavily on the end of the bed.

"Yes," he agreed readily. "But…" Severus stared at the black lace knickers that adorned her backside. "Not too fast. I find that my current view is… delectable."

Hermione answered the dark moan that rushed out of him as she turned with a little titter, her hips swiveling slowly as she came to face him.

…

He was lost in her willingness, her certainty.

Without any trepidation, she laid herself bare on the bed, her fair skin flushed to a stunning shade of pink. And the taste – the taste of his wife's skin! The faint tang of perfume that he sampled as he licked between her breasts, the clean musk that entered his mouth as he suckled…

The taste of her sent him nearly mad with desire.

She was so lively, so fiercely _involved_ in the act that each cry of pleasure, each deep, breathy moan almost ended him.

There was no part of her body that went untouched by his hands or tongue. He committed to memory each sound, each intake of breath, each gasp, each tightening of her fingers in his hair as his tongue brought her to the brink over and over again. Any mediocre skills he may have placed at her feet were for naught – this woman was unlike any other, and he took the time to educate himself, to truly _please_ her.

That he should have her at last… his wife…

"My beautiful wife," he sighed, kissing his way up her body again, taking one dusky rose areola into his mouth on the way. "Beautiful, beautiful witch."

It was too much when she slid down his body, aiming to reciprocate. His wife – though in this moment she was his cruel and sweetly tormenting lover – took him between her lips. Slow, long licks of her tongue were complemented by the way she carefully explored his thighs, his buttocks, his sack.

Severus let his head fall onto the pillow.

He could stop her now…he could pull her up, enter her in one thrust, _join_ with her.

And yet…

When his climax came, beginning with a tightening in his groin and ending with _so much warmth_ as she moaned triumphantly around him, he knew that there would be more.

…

They bathed together, the intimacy of the scene an interlude before the final act. He washed her skin, her hair. The tiles on the shower wall that he leant on grew to a comfortable temperature, the initial sharp chill diminished by the way she pressed her body against him, her tongue languidly dancing with his.

How could he explain this? Severus searched for words yet found none. It was like a culmination – a culmination of everything he had wanted without ever really comprehending it. And how could he have understood? How could Severus ever have grasped that in his wife, he had found a woman that cared for him, that felt affection for him? Their beginning had not been conducive to such ideas.

But their _second_ beginning certainly was.

The warm water flowed over Hermione and between her breasts that fit perfectly in his palms.

He wound her curls around his wrist and managed to keep his voice long enough to tell her that he would keep her here, beside him always. It was the most that he could muster.

If he admitted to anything else, he feared they would never make it out of the shower.

Hermione smiled and when she, too, tugged on the black locks that fell down past his shoulders, he placed a kiss of approval and acceptance to her soft pink lips.

"The doubter," she said slowly, flicking her eyes to the shower door.

"You've heard of it?" Severus asked, running his hands down over her hips. "You have my condolences."

Her tinkling laugh echoed throughout the tiled room. "I have! He must've done it while I was up here getting ready for you. It was the bed – my bed. Did you notice?"

He most definitely had not noticed anything apart from her naked body and he told her so shamelessly, smirking wolfishly.

"Well," she explained, "it was neither here nor there, yes? One of the tiniest doubles I've seen."

"Yes…"

"Now it's not. Now it's decided. It's a bigger bed. For two."

They left the bathroom soon after and he dried her body, determined not to ruin the night by needing to think about everything. He kissed her instead.

…

The walls were tight; they held him, gripped him. Heat enveloped him until he saw nothing bar stars.

When Severus entered her fully, finally cleaving to his wife, he understood what he had been chasing after: that nameless emotion that had kept him at her bedside; that had taken her in; that had treasured her.

It felt the way he had imagined love to feel.

…

"You didn't tell me," he said, his voice just above a whisper.

"I assumed you knew." Hermione's breath tickled the hairs on his chest. He traced circles on her back, enjoying the weight of her body. Her cheek lay over his heart, and she had wormed a leg between his thighs. It was peaceful; perfect. A wave of his hand brought a lilac covered sheet up to cover them.

"I didn't presume… that is, I didn't really think…"

"You thought I had done this before?"

He shook his head. "Not that; I just didn't think at all. Not about this happening. I hoped, but I didn't…"

"Words have escaped you, haven't they?"

Severus sighed and gave a small shrug. His hand on her back delved further down, splaying over her buttocks as he curled his fingers into the soft skin there. "Can you blame me, wife?"

Hermione giggled and squirmed. "Well, all right, _husband._ Your lack of verbosity is flattering, I suppose," she declared laughingly, her sweet revenge following seconds later as she lightly dragged a nail through the trail of black hair on his stomach.

"Thank you," said Severus suddenly, staring down at her when she pushed up on his chest and rested her chin on his torso to see him better.

Hermione tilted her head and brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. "What for?" she whispered, leaning forward to kiss the tip of his nose.

He exhaled with a soft grin. "For choosing me - for choosing me to be your first." It seemed trite and unoriginal to say it, but he _wanted_ to express himself. And words of thanks were far suited to the quiet, gentle atmosphere than the juvenile, smug thoughts in his mind that all ended with: _'Me, me, me!'_

"Oh," she murmured, blessing him with a beam, "well, then. You should know that it never would have been anyone else. I always wanted…" Hermione looked away, then shrugged and burrowed her face into his neck. "You were the one I always wanted. You _are_ the one I have always wanted."

"Ah."

He suspected then, in the delicate time between her declaration and the way her breaths evened out soon after, indicating that she had fallen asleep, that the reason why his heart was not bursting in response was quite simple, really.

It had already taken flight.

It had left him, left the barren land where it had abided and instead found a place with his wife.

Perhaps it had left him long ago.

Severus closed his eyes and fell easily into a deep, calm sleep.


	16. Chapter 16

_A/N: This chapter contains some sexually explicit content. My battery on the laptop is about to finish, so you can expect my usual review replies for the last chapter to come in a few hours. Feel free to check out the new completed Christmas story named 'Delicate' for something to read until the next chapter._

* * *

 **Chapter 16**

So please, please, please  
let me, let me, let me  
let me get what I want  
this time.

 _The Smiths_

* * *

Severus awoke to a flood of sensation. His feet were cold; he must have kicked the blanket off during the night. His mouth was dry and the skin of his neck itched. The air was filled with an unfamiliar combination of scents: grass carried in through the window from the cool morning wind, an unassuming note of talcum powder, frangipani oil, and the faint tang of sweat.

His nose twitched and he tossed his head. The itch on his neck intensified; it seemed to move and he groaned, mumbling unintelligibly as the tickling sensation ghosted over his nipples.

And then he remembered.

With remembrance came the option to open his eyes and watch his wife, who was obviously intent on waking him in the best way she could possibly think of. The itch came from her wild, morning hair that was slowly being dragged ever downwards over his skin. He sighed, almost overcome with the thrilling thought that perhaps, _just perhaps,_ it might become common practice to wake beside his wife, to feel the warmth of her body so close to his own.

Would time deal him such favourable cards? Possibly, if he could only play them right…

The steady strokes of her tongue on his chest paused. "I know you're awake."

"No I'm not," he replied, grinning when she gently tapped his morning erection. Her action was accompanied by a mock huff as he wriggled his hips in a very obvious invitation. "Really – I am dead to the world, desperately awaiting the – oh. _Oh._ Well, by all means, wife – _ah!"_

…

The second time Severus' eyes opened some hours later, it was to see his wife standing over him with hair still damp from her shower, her mouth twisted into a smug and entirely becoming smile.

Answering his unspoken question, she cast a _Tempus_ and grinned some more when he raised two surprised eyebrows.

"Nine in the morning? Christ," he muttered, "I haven't slept in so late in years."

"Never, I'd wager," Hermione countered, her tone laced with self-satisfaction. "What on earth happened, to make my husband so unusually… idle?"

"Ah." He hid a smile. "I see that you require reminding. Fair enough."

…

"Must you follow me into the shower?"

"Is that a trick question, husband?"

"No. I intend to wash. Not to…"

"To what?"

"Don't give me that look. You and I are both well aware that your innocent doe eyes are merely a front for your terribly wanton habits."

"Habits that you seem to enjoy, _very much._ "

"And if I do?"

"There's nothing wrong with that. I'm flattered. I'm simply surprised that a man would turn down a shower with his naked wife."

"I'm not twenty. I need some time to recover, but – oh."

"Is this aiding your recovery?"

"It might do. If you… if you… _ah_ …"

"Don't you worry. I will get around to washing you. When I'm done, of course."

"Mmm, yes. Go on then, you voracious witch. Have at it."

"'Have at it'? That's a bit trite."

"Excuse me for not being able to concen- _ah!-_ trate enough for some other – _shite! –_ honey-tongued expression."

…

"Oh – is all of this for me?"

"Who else would I cook for, Hermione?"

" _You_ cooked? _You_ baked this fish?"

"Do you see anyone else in the room? Don't answer that. I gave Tink the day off."

"But you can only make soups!"

"Obviously that is incorrect."

"Severus?"

"What, wife? I baked the fish – would you stop the questions long enough to eat it?"

"Just one more, husband. Oh, I do like the way you smile when I say that."

"Spit it out."

"Did you learn how to cook this for me?"

"No."

"So the cookbook over there has nothing to do with –"

"Eat, wife."

"Thank you, Severus. It's all so lovely."

"Eat."

…

"This is nice."

"What is?"

"Sitting like this: together, reading. I like it."

"Do you now?"

"I think you do, too."

"I might do."

"There's just one thing, though… Budge over, will you?"

"There's barely enough room for me on this couch, Hermione…"

"There. Now there's room for both of us."

"Must you sit so close?"

"Yes."

…

"I admit that this is… not unpleasant."

"You can say it. It's easy. Like this: 'I like you in my lap, Hermione.' Or, 'I like it when you cuddle me and read, Hermione.'"

"I have a cramp in my thigh from your arse, Hermione."

"Should I go back to the other chair?"

"I will commit unspeakable acts upon your person if you do such a thing, wife."

"Then I propose the following: I'll keep reading in your lap, and you'll commit the unspeakable acts upon my person anyway?"

"If you insist."

…

Helen Granger was Not Impressed, Severus quickly deduced. The woman's lips were pursed to within an inch of their life, and she was dropping small squares of sugar into her tea with sheer single mindedness that seemed rather like that of her daughter.

But Helen was trying, Severus could give her that – and a very short and very, very subtle skirting of her thoughts showed shame and hesitation. He wasn't prone to Legilimency these days, but there were times when it was an instinctive reaction to abnormal behaviour. And Helen Granger turning up at his doorstep with a determined, pleasant smile ten minutes earlier was abnormal indeed.

He shifted on the couch, resisting the urge to roll his shoulders and stretch all of the muscles that, having been on a very long holiday, were now loudly complaining due to such pleasant overuse.

The woman of the hour breezed into the sitting room, a cool beer and a plate of biscuits floating in the air behind her. "Here you are, dad," Hermione trilled, levitating the beer over to Richard as she flopped down on the couch beside her weary husband.

Richard turned his head away to hide a bemused grin. "Thanks, love."

"You're certainly in a good mood," Helen remarked, frowning at the dainty blue cup in her hands. "Are things looking up?"

"What things?" Hermione began to roll her eyes then sighed. "Mum, I –"

"What your mother means to say is," Richard interrupted, shooting the older woman a pointed look, "is that you seem happy and that _we_ are happy to see _you_ happy. But because the Granger women are so unfailingly curious, perhaps you'd care to enlighten your mother and I as to whether there's been any recent developments that are contributing to this… happiness. Your job, perhaps. Or have you gotten further with your research?"

Hermione's father tactfully ignored the way Hermione smiled up at Severus. Helen huffed at the sight, but she soon quietened again. Severus could only assume that since the pair had arrived together, they were obviously keen to present a united front. It was a vast improvement from the couple that had first come to the cottage – from the way Hermione discreetly took his hand and squeezed, she was aware of it, too.

And as Helen Granger seemed to be determined not to give in to her anger and annoyance for a change, Severus decided it was time to do his part. Richard had never been completely opposed to the match between he and Hermione, and as the years went on and Severus' visits to her never ceased, his father in law had been a quiet, steadfast supporter of the wizard.

It had only been in the last year of Hermione's hospitalisation that the Granger marriage appeared to be on the rocks. Before that, it was blindingly clear that Richard and Helen were used to tackling problems together, head on, whereas dealing with an older, often blunt son in law was not something they had prepared for.

He could understand it, in a way. After all, Severus had never prepared for having a passionate harpy for a mother in law.

It was a relief of grand proportions to finally see Helen's passion being directed at something other than _him,_ for a change. Whatever had occurred between the Grangers had meant that she was now apparently determined to give 'it' (Severus had yet to work out what 'it' referred to) a go.

As the conversation around him progressed, Severus watched Hermione's mother. She was an interesting woman – all fire and fortitude. His own wife possessed much of her mother's willpower, yet Richard's influence had thrown composure and a degree of level-headedness into the mix.

It was a heady combination.

That morning, for example, his wife had barely stopped touching him. It was almost like she was trying to make up for the lost years of their marriage, for her lips had traced every single line of his body countless times. And for a man so usually disgruntled by constant attention, Severus found that he was lapping up the elated emotions that he felt while being the object of such a beautiful woman's intense focus.

His mind easily jumped from the morning to the evening before. Severus could still hear Hermione's confession – that he was the one she had always wanted.

How was such a thing even _possible?_

How could this... this ethereal creature (he winced, confronted finally with the pedestal he must've put her on years ago) have come to have such feelings about him?

Did that mean that she had _fancied_ him? Not just during their marriage, but _before?_

What had Albus said? That she "would prefer him above all." Above _all!_

When Hermione Granger was seventeen, her affection had been solid enough for her to volunteer to _bond_ with him in _matrimony._

Sweet Circe, when Hermione Granger was seventeen, Severus often had days where the only thing he wished for was a ten foot pole to push her and her questions away with.

But then she had _married_ him. And she didn't stop there; no, his wife had cared for him, tended to his regular migraines, given him the reprieve of quiet company when he did not wish to be alone.

It seemed glaringly obvious now that Hermione Snape did not desire friendship, as she had so carefully proposed after they had moved into the cottage.

Severus was unsure as to what it was that she _did_ want; declarations were all well and good, but he had long been a man that focused on actions over words. Her wooing had hinted at her wish for intimacy, and their _intimacy…_ Where did she want them to go from here? Where did _he_ want to go?

"Severus?"

He blinked, returning his concentration back to the sitting room. "My apologies, Helen," he said carefully. "You were saying?" _That'd be right – the harridan finally tries to make amends and you're off with your mind settled firmly between Hermione's legs._

"I said," his mother in law said slowly with her fingers laced together tightly, "how has work been going for you? Any noteworthy mishaps?"

 _Well, fuck me. Pigs are flying._

Hermione squeezed his hand again and Richard's normally careful gaze turned pleading. Taking pity on the man, Severus fixed his stare on the older, nervous woman. With as soft a voice as he could manage, he began with a, "Well, there was this absolute disaster with a fifth year a fortnight ago…"

Such fragile peace might not last in the long run, but the black haired wizard fervently hoped that it would.

…

"Hermione?" Severus called as he entered the cottage. It was close to midnight on Thursday and when she didn't answer, he made his way into the kitchen for a glass of water. He'd been home earlier, but an incident with one of his younger Slytherins had caused Tink to pop in after dinner. It had taken most of the night to calm the second year girl, and while he had long since managed to compartmentalise, he was more than ready for bed.

He climbed the stairs and stopped outside of the main bedroom. By some stroke of miraculous good fortune, Hermione moved all of his things into the room on the Monday after their first night together. At first, Severus had stood stock still, staring at the strange sight that was his austere teaching robes hanging up beside one of her purple cardigans. At any moment, he'd expected an audience to suddenly emerge, laughing and jesting that he had fallen for the ruse.

But there was no ruse. Hermione had waited quietly, her hand on his arm. "Is this…. Is this all right with you, Severus?"

He'd blinked, still flummoxed, but his wife was undeterred. "I'd like to sleep beside you, Severus. I want to wake up beside you. Tell me we can at least try?"

"Try," he'd echoed faintly. "Try." How could he have put into words that seeing the swaths of black crepe beside her dainty clothes was one of the loveliest sights he had ever had the pleasure of looking upon? That it made his chest feel uncomfortably tight; that he could barely breathe with the weight of all-encompassing hope that was swirling and curling through his mind? And that, to see his clothing interspersed with her bright, feminine colours sparked something proprietorial and possessive that was different to anything he'd ever felt before?

He was sharing a wardrobe with his wife – and it was fucking _marvelous._

"Yes," he muttered, cracking a small grin. "We can try."

He had taken her that night with all of the passion that had been building within him. Like a siren, she called to him, twisting his needs and desires around her little finger until all he knew was that he wanted her. The bed had not been enough; instead her long creamy legs had hooked around his waist as he thrust inside of her, his weight pinning her to the wall.

No words were spoken. It would have sent him running if she had made declarations or promises – Hermione knew just how to draw him in, how to slowly bring him around to the knowledge that what he had was not going to disappear.

Her gasps and moans had been enough; the salty tang of the sweat on her skin had taunted him until he had given in and licked between her breasts, under her ear, the line of her jaw. Her nails dug into his shoulders and he hissed at a sudden sharp pain – his wife had drawn blood. It stung, but as she threw her head back, her mouth wide in a silent scream, he found that he was reveling in the sting, the harsh reminder of her claim.

To make love to Hermione – and it was making love, for though it was fast and chaotic and fierce, it was still _loving –_ in such a way was freeing.

The young witch had freed him, and he had never even seen her coming.

…

After a quick trip to the loo, Severus returned to the bedroom door and quietly stepped into the room. Chuckling soundlessly at the bundle of blankets and bushy hair on one side of the bed, he padded over and eased out of his robes.

He slid under the blankets and curled his body around the warm, soft form of Hermione. She wore nothing, and still, even after a week of learning her curves, Severus had to stop himself from trailing a suggestive hand along her waist. He fit around her perfectly; cupping a breast, he bent down and breathed in the scent of her hair, of the frangipani oil that clung to her skin.

"You're home," she mumbled, squirming in his arms. He made to draw back, to let her continue to rest, but she cradled his arm around her and placed a kiss on his hand. Her lips were slightly chapped, dry from always sleeping with her mouth comically open, but the tender action thrilled him regardless.

He whispered his reply into her hair, "I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep."

"Is everything all right?"

"It is, wife." Inspired by her affectionate gesture, he kissed the top of her hair. "Sleep."

She wriggled again and he sighed, aware that the battle was lost. "How is she?"

"She'll be fine," he murmured as his fingers began to trace circles on her back. "She's a resilient girl."

"Still!" Hermione's voice grew louder, more indignant, and he shushed her with a smile. "Bullying is never acceptable," the witch proclaimed, giving a breathy harrumph when he pinched her bottom. "Stop that. I hope you took millions of points from those stupid little bitches."

Severus hummed. "Two hundred points, a month's worth of detentions – with _me_ – and letters home to their parents. I'm surprised though, little wife; you seem pleased." He lowered his voice and spoke teasingly into her ear, "Not going to stick up for your Gryffindors, then?"

"Never." Hermione dismissed her former House with a growl. "They threw mud on the poor girl! And then water, charming it to look like blood! Isn't she a cousin to the Zabinis? Her family wasn't even involved! This infantile tit-for-tat is disgusting. I hope that Minerva stood with you."

"Ah," Severus said, the surprised note of his tone still present from the events earlier in the night, "she brought them to me, if you'd believe it. Said that as the girls attacked a member of my House, that I had free rein in deciding what punishments were appropriate."

"Well, that's new. Never thought I'd see the day."

"Mmm. She's… improving. Or she will improve."

The atmosphere changed then, to something delicate yet filled with fire. The transition was as easy as breathing; one moment they were talking, the next she shifted just once and his desire rose.

"You're very optimistic tonight."

Severus pressed his lips to her shoulder. "My _wife_ is naked in my arms, and she is ever so-" His fingers moved from her breast, "-soft." His index finger drew lines through the short curls between her thighs. "And warm." Lower still he moved, grinning into the pillow as she moaned and pushed down against his hand. "And _wet._ Are you wet for _me_ , Hermione?"

When she nodded, unable to form coherent words to verbalise her assent, Severus gave a hoarse groan, tantalised and aroused from the _truth_ of it. She desired him – craved him, his skin, his touch.

He could not remember a time when a woman had been enamoured with him, in _need_ of him.

"Do you need me, Hermione?" he whispered, barely able to believe it. She ground down on his fingers and he slipped one into her silken, velvet warmth.

She cried out, her pleasure so utterly obvious that he nearly lost his mind. "I do, I do," she chanted, arching her back as she keened. "I need you. _Please!_ "

"Oh, gods, I could make you beg and you'd do it, wouldn't you, witch?" He let his thumb circle her clit, coaxing and calling her to submit to her desires. He wanted to see her lose control, to see her features contort with pleasure as she came, but he was not so strong that he could watch and remain outside of her. She mewled with disappointment when his fingers left her then moaned when he took himself in hand and swirled the head of his cock around her, coating the head.

"Severus! Oh, please – Severus, please- just…"

"What do you want, love?" The endearment escaped his mouth and it hung in the air until she gasped and reached around with one hand to curl her fingers into his arse.

"That! Oh, Severus, that! Please – just please, _please_ love me!"

He bit her shoulder, his teeth sinking into her skin; all to stop himself from shouting the triumph that he was consumed by as soon as he slid into his wife.

By all the gods, she was perfect.

…

"An invitation came yesterday," she said the next morning over breakfast. He had opted to share the meal with her – he'd woken early to leave to take it at the castle, but found himself unable to part from her. He would suffer through a long dinner at Hogwarts instead, as he had to keep two meals a day there in order to have one at home, but he was loath to depart. He dragged it out and, keeping in mind the tale that a watched kettle never boiled, stared hard at the pot while waiting to make his tea. Hermione puttered around him, preparing toast and spreading his beloved Marmite right to the edges of the hard crust that he preferred.

"Oh?" He cursed the kettle when the water boiled anyway and ignored his wife's giggles as he added the tea to let it steep. "For what?"

"I'd like it if you came with me," she said instead, prompting him to arch an eyebrow.

"And what is this event, if I have to agree before even knowing what it is?"

"You're right," Hermione agreed quickly as she spooned sugar into his cup. The smile that she threw towards him was apologetic, but it seemed more of a grimace than anything else. With tense shoulders, Severus poured the tea and sat at the table, murmuring his thanks for the toast.

"Seeing as though I wasn't able to attend the celebrations that marked the three years since the end of the war," she began with, paying too much attention to cutting her toast into squares, "Molly decided to throw a party at the Burrow tomorrow night. To make up for it, I suppose," she added hurriedly when he winced.

"What?" Severus asked shortly, pushing his plate away. He had no appetite.

His barked question sparked her ire and Hermione scowled. "Molly's organised a party for me. For us."

Severus sighed and met her gaze tiredly. Truly, was it too much to ask for some time away from the Weasley family? He was not so much of a bastard as to dismiss Molly's meals and kind words, but the youngest male prat had been a thorn in his side for longer than he cared to think about. And he was no fool either; a party for the both of them? Molly might entertain such idealistic notions but, try as she might, she was not loud enough to drown out the rest of her brood.

Quite simply, all he wanted was some peace and quiet for once.

"I'd rather spend the night with you," he admitted slowly.

Hermione's gaze softened, but the flat line of her lips remained. "We'd be together, Severus. It's just the Burrow."

A speech was being readied, though his wife was quicker. Leaving him stunned, she reached across the table and snagged a bite of his toast. "I'm being obtuse, aren't I?" she mumbled, cheeks pink. "I know it would be a bloody nightmare. I thought I should accept – Ron said something about Molly giving you a hand, and I want her to know how much I appreciate it. I wasn't there… I should have been."

"You were in the hospital, wife. Christ, Hermione!" He stood and tugged on her hand until she rose to her feet. "Do you think you've _failed_? Is that what this is all about? No one is going to give you a _mark_."

"I don't know what 'this' is all about," she replied, burrowing into his chest with an audible groan. "It just felt like it was something normal people do. Normal married people. Don't normal married people go to garden parties and spend half of the time gossiping about everyone else there?"

"Probably," he replied easily, chuckling at her smile. "I was unaware that we are a normal married couple, however."

"We're married! And not deformed."

"It was a marriage of convenience," he shot back, testing her. She did not disappoint.

Brown eyes flashed and his young wife twisted her mouth into a dark expression that should have made him assemble his own features into something more serious, but instead made him laugh even harder.

"Stop that!" scolded Hermione, swatting his bicep as he drew her into his chest. "Bugger what everyone else thinks – we _are_ married; it doesn't matter how it came about. Not anymore."

"No?"

"No!"

"Hm." Severus busied his hands in her hair, lightly tugging and twisting the curls. Like a cat, she rubbed her cheek on his shirt. As he often had, he decided that her optimism was endearing. It was nice to have someone batting for him for a change. And if she was determined to think well of their marriage, who was he to argue with her? Far be it from him to change something that, despite all odds, seemed to be… at least functioning.

"We will attend," he announced, relaxing further as she wound her arms around his middle and squeezed. "And we will put up with the miscreants for one hour, and then you may decide whether the potion we left on requires our presence or not."

"Ha! I always thought that was an excuse."

"You are my wife," Severus said imperiously, delighting in her little laugh. "You may use my excuses if you wish."

"As long as I use them to come home to you?"

"Ah, the point is to use them in a manner that benefits you, my dear." Again, the endearment slipped out unbidden, but from the way his heart leapt at her fond sigh, Severus realised that he did not mind at all. "Does it benefit you? To return here to me?"

"To return _home_ to you?" she pressed, looking up at him and tucking his hair behind his ears. Her eyes, framed by short black lashes, gleamed. There was an emotion swimming in them that he could not name, nor did he wish to try – for Severus was certain that whatever nameless emotion was causing her to blush and smile, was bursting inside him as well.

"To return home to your husband," he confirmed, his voice a low murmur as he considered the phrasing.

Home.

Was this his home? He looked around the kitchen, then at the woman in his arms.

 _Yes,_ he thought. _This could be home._


	17. Chapter 17

_The flashback we've all been waiting for is here. We're going to learn some important things, including where 'that' word from Chapter 5 came from… Wrapping things up now, three chapters to go! If you need a refresher for the flashback, skim the beginning of Chapter 14._

 ** _FYI – I cannot reply to reviews, this site is having some issues and we can't view them. They're being counted though, so they are registering on each fic, just not viewable at the moment. Don't let that stop you ;-)_**

* * *

 **Chapter 17**

Enough with the harshness of the world,

come.

I need you always by me.

 _Kadhim al Saher_

* * *

Severus watched as his wife weaved among the guests, her hands full with a glass of wine for each of them. Hermione was making slow progress; for each step she took, someone or other would kiss her cheek or squeeze her arm, mumble a greeting or attempt to talk her ears right off.

He stood at the edge of the garden, one hand in his pocket and the other hanging loosely at his side. It was warm and his shirtsleeves were rolled to his elbows in deference to the heat, though not to the other guests. If most gave him a wide berth due to the faded, dull grey tattoo on his left arm, then that was an expected boon.

If he were a sentimental man – or if he acknowledged that he was, indeed, a sentimental man – then he would have seen something in those that had decided to attend the party that was for Hermione in all but name. Helen and Richard were sitting at a table with Arthur and Percy, who was shooting furtive glances towards Lavender Brown, currently conversing with Poppy Pomfrey near the drinks table. Minerva was rolling her eyes in response to a comment made by a laughing George Weasley, and the sky was filled with shrieking redheads on brooms, along with a scruffy haired Potter.

He was surrounded by Gryffindors. Bloody typical, though it didn't feel as annoying as he had expected it would.

Severus suspected that his lukewarm emotions were a result of the young woman now only a few feet away from him. How was a man supposed to maintain severity when a beautiful woman was winking and batting her lashes at him, after all? He ducked his head and grinned when he finally looked back at her; Hermione was glaringly obvious. She was acting like she had eyes only for him.

Not that he minded.

Somewhere above him, Ronald Weasley was glaring at the spectacle they were making, but for all of the boy's moping, even he had not managed to redirect Hermione's attention. Severus' smug smirk that he wore was juvenile at best, but try as he might, it would not go away.

 _He_ had got the girl. And not just any girl – no, Severus Snape had snagged the most intelligent witch that Hogwarts had seen for hundreds of years. A witch that had seen battle and lived through it, that had fought bravely and lived fiercely, and still wore a smile upon her comely face.

And above all, he had _married_ her. That ring on her finger, the thin golden band that complemented her simple cream coloured sundress – it was a ring that _he_ had put on her finger.

Severus withdrew his own hand from his pocket and stared at the silver ring that adorned his finger. This, too, was a mark of her. More substantial than any greying tattoo, it marked him as a kept man – but _voluntarily_ so. And he knew that now – with all of his heart, he knew that he wanted to keep what he had.

He was a married man, and now that he truly understood just what came along with sharing his name and bed, Severus was damn well going to make sure that he stayed that way.

"You look happy," a thin, chirpy voice remarked. Startled, he looked down to see Lavender at his side, covering her mouth in an effort to stave off giggles.

"Congratulations," he drawled, his eyes still on his wife, who looked even more amused than the Healer. "You have managed to sneak up on your old Potions Master. Are you proud?"

"Oh, immensely, sir!" the blonde replied with a titter. "I shan't forget it. Now will you take pity on me and tell me why you are looking so well?"

In response, Severus merely cocked an eyebrow and the witch sighed. "I thought that would be the case. Not one to brag loudly, are you?"

"Of course not."

That set her off again, and he rolled his eyes in Hermione's direction.

"'Of course not!' he says. And yet you're standing here," Lavender gestured around the garden, "with the biggest self-satisfied smirk that I have ever seen. Less people would've noticed if you walked around, proclaiming your happiness with a Sonorous charm!"

She did have a point. Even Potter had raised two eyebrows almost to his hairline when Severus and Hermione had walked in together, the witch with a demure smile on her face while Severus' arm encircled her shoulders.

To answer her unspoken question, Severus shrugged and said slowly, "I am."

 _I am happy._

"Are you? Truly?" Lavender's smile became a friendly one, as opposed to the professional expression that she often wore out of habit. "You deserve it. You and Hermione deserve it, sir. More than anyone."

"Oh, I don't know," he drawled silkily, jutting a chin towards Percy Weasley. "Don't be obtuse now. I remember you as slightly more observant than you're currently being."

"Once a spy, hmm?" The witch eyed the thin, lanky redhead, her blue eyes softening under the weight of the wizard's eager grin. "I need a break from the Weasleys. But when that break is done… who knows?"

"Indeed." Sensing a way in, Severus remarked, "You never did explain why the divorce occurred. You seemed happy in the early days."

"I was," Lavender agreed quickly. "Oh, I was. Ron and I are more alike than… well, more alike than other possibilities, I suppose. And he was very charming. But he's very young, Professor. And don't look like that; I don't mean his age. He's immature. He fixates on things, and he wasn't fixated on _me._ They all knew it, which made it worse. Molly tried to push him towards me, and Percy used to walk around the house mumbling about making the most out of what life gives us. Bunch of bloody tosh if you ask me. By the time the Law was finally thrown out, I'd had enough of playing second fiddle. I want to be somebody's first, Professor. Their first choice."

He might have been uncomfortable with such personal revelations, but there was no denying that Severus felt protective of Lavender Brown in a very strange way. More than likely it was due to all of those years that the Healer had tended to his wife, never allowing her personal life to interfere. He had admired her dedication, and he was sure that the trials never would have gotten anywhere if it wasn't for her assistance.

Feeling as if he owed her the chance to speak her mind, Severus muttered, "You made the right decision, then. Who was he mooning over?"

Lavender laughed again, a lighter, more tinkling laugh than the breathy, amusing chortles that often spilled from Hermione's mouth. "Isn't it obvious? Don't frown so. You've known it from the beginning. He's the one that kissed her during the Battle, after all. She was too polite then to slap him one, but she should have. It didn't mean anything, but from the way you've been grinning from ear to ear today, I think you know that."

It might have bothered him in the past, but to know that Ronald Weasley had ruined his own marriage by fawning over Severus' wife really did not put a dampener on his mood. It was new, this feeling of surety.

He liked it.

"Yet you remain unperturbed," he commented, referring to the friendly manner that his wife had always been treated with by the Healer.

"Unperturbed?" Lavender tittered again. "I can't stand the git, personally. I'd hex his bollocks off if I could, for wasting my time like that. But I could never hold that against Hermione. I think… now, don't go cold on me and clam up after this, but…"

"But what?" Severus shook his head. "Spit it out."

Between laughs, the witch managed to sum up his own feelings in an uncanny turn of phrase that went straight to his heart. "She's a woman that is very easy to love."

Severus was speechless. He stared at his wife, now on the other side of the garden, though his thoughts were far away.

Was it true? Was Hermione Snape easy to love?

Did _he_ love her?

His fists clenched and he barely noticed Lavender pat his shoulder and murmur something soothing before leaving to get him a much needed drink.

Was that what it was all about? The conflicting feelings that had plagued him from the moment they stepped inside the cottage together to now, attending functions? Was that - the mixture of affection, longing, respect and desire – was that _love?_

It was not something Severus had ever wished to really analyse, because then there was the possibility of realising that he may have cared for her long before it was ever appropriate. When she was a student – did he follow her figure with his eyes? When she was wearing school robes and eating her meals in the Great Hall, did he notice the way her school blouse highlighted the smooth curves of her breasts?

Lavender took his hand and wrapped his fingers around a tumbler. "Drink," she commanded, her order coming as forcefully as if he were under the Imperius.

He drank, and returned to his brooding. The Healer stood silently in front of him, looking somewhere over his shoulder but shielding him from the view of others.

Did he care for her even then? Yes, of course, Severus decided. It was only natural – he was tasked with her protection, ergo of course he would feel some semblance of feelings to that end. Even that moment in his office during the hardest year of his life, when she had Apparated and shocked him to the core with her trust and understanding…

Did he love her then?

It filled him with the purest relief to recall that the answer to that was a resounding _no._

But after…

When Arthur had deposited her into his arms, when he had shouted down St. Mungo's in search for an available Healer for his wife, when he had sat beside her prone figure on the bed and cried for the first time in years…

Did he love her then?

And when he had visited every morning, bearing witness to her moments of lucidity and kindness, her fragile hope and wishful thoughts… did he love her even then? When he had worn the insults from Weasley and Minerva, when he had, for the first time in his life, put his personal life before the safety of the students and turned up late for work more often than he could count, purely because he had wanted to hold her for just a moment longer?

It hit him like a bludger to the stomach. Like a collision with the Hogwarts Express, like emerging from the water after that one disastrous attempt at teaching himself how to swim.

Severus loved his wife.

He _loved_ her.

At the very least, from the second that he had held her lifeless body in his arms and felt the pain that he knew now was his heart threatening to break… from that second, he loved her.

He had loved her while he sat vigil at her bedside.

He had loved her when she ranted and raved, when she threw books at him, when her insults were enough to make him drink long into the night in the privacy of his chambers.

He had loved her when he brought her to the cottage, to their _home._ When she had looked around with eyes so wide and trusting; when she had professed that it was perfect.

When she had kissed him on the kitchen floor, her mouth tasting of salt and white wine… he had loved her.

And when he had touched her, entered her, moved within her – when she had _demanded_ that he love her…

He had loved her.

He did love her.

He had never stopped _loving_ her.

…

He did not know how long he stood there as if he were a statue of ice or marble, but the sky was darkening by the time he was able to collect himself enough to walk inside.

"All right?" Lavender asked, surprising him again.

"You stayed?" He shook his head. "Foolish witch. What a way to waste your afternoon."

She scoffed, "Oh, please. I summoned a magazine and had a good read. Do you really think I wanted to socialise? I only came because Hermione chose to attend – it's a big thing, making her way back into society. She'll never admit to needing me, even if she truly did, but I wanted to be here for her, all the same."

"Right."

At some point, those in the sky had returned to the home. No one else was in the garden, though as they began to make their way inside, he heard a low murmur of voices coming from the front of the house. Later he would wonder how on earth he'd managed to detect Hermione's voice along with the annoying, pleading tones of the youngest Weasley male, but at the time he was perturbed enough to stalk around the side and jerk to a halt as he took stock of the tableau.

Beside him, Lavender sucked in a quiet breath of surprise. "Whatever it is," she muttered, "it won't be what it seems, Professor."

He hoped she was right.

The two sat together on a log closer to the edge of the property. They made a pretty pair, he thought with a sneer. Hermione's curls, having grown out over the months, cascaded over her shoulders. Oh, it was a bushy mess to be sure, but after being the only man to thread his fingers through the mop of knots, Severus knew the strands to be as smooth as silk.

That head of hair was resting on Weasley's shoulder. His arm was looped around her back. His freckled hand moved for a moment to touch her shoulder, bare thanks to the sundress, before it returned to its place at her waist.

With their back to the older wizard and the bristling Healer, neither Hermione nor Ronald were aware that they had company.

He couldn't decipher enough to really understand the conversation, and for some reason, the anger he thought he might feel wasn't there at all. Instead, he merely felt a curious mix of disappointment and a burning desire to make himself known.

Words and phrases like, "You need to…", "But don't you see?", "I've made a…" and "Surely you don't…" washed over him.

Unsure of what on earth to do, Severus merely looked at Ms. Brown long enough to smile tightly. Her grimace pissed him off – why should there be pity in her face? Why should Lavender fucking Brown see something in the pair in front of them?

Should Severus see something?

Suddenly, sure of what he now needed to do, Severus gave her a gruff nod and briskly strode back to the garden. Without a sound, he turned in one sharp movement and disappeared.

…

An hour later, he stood and admired his handiwork while Mog purred at his feet. _Yes,_ he decided. _This will do._

 _…_

 ** _1998_**

 _The crack! of someone Apparating into his private quarters made his hands shake with fear._

 _The fear dissipated, quickly replaced by a sickening, twisted hope that made his heart hurt as he shoved the covers away and sprinted to the door, throwing it open to see-_

 _"_ _Hermione!"_

…

"I won't hurt you," Severus repeated, the conviction in his voice enough to make his wife relax in his arms. Her tears fell freely and he held her tightly, knowing full well that this moment could free him or confine him later, if he ever managed to survive. After having no one for _so long,_ his _wife_ was here. Even by being here, if anyone managed to find out later, she could be thrown into Azkaban alongside him. But he was too selfish to order her away. The wave of affection and something that he couldn't quite understand that almost crippled him the minute he took her into his arms was so strong that he had no hope of ever telling her to leave.

He did not want to, and he wouldn't. And the lure of being able to tell someone, anyone, _her,_ of all that had transpired was not something he was able to ignore.

In his arms, she felt thin; breakable. Her hair was dirty and the oil at the crown of her head was enough to rival his own. Her clothing stank. He could not move away.

"Tell me you're all right," he demanded uselessly, stumbling with her to the couch. "Hermione!"

The weeping only intensified. It was all he could do not to weep along with her.

Severus closed his eyes and tried the only thing he could call to mind. " _Miss Granger!"_

It did the trick.

Hermione stiffened and sniffed. Even through his grey plaid pyjamas, he could feel the heat of her blush from where her cheek was pressed against him. For a fleeting moment, she burrowed her face further into the warm fabric; he almost chuckled with an unfamiliar sense of fondness when he realised that she was attempting to wipe her nose on his clothes.

"Wife?" he pressed, his voice tender despite the inappropriate amusement he was feeling. "Hermione. Let me get you a handkerchief, at least."

…

She had calmed enough to accept his stilted offer of tea. Hands alternating between clutching the cup and tugging at loose hems on her jumper, she sat in one of the wingback chairs by the fire.

From the chair on the other side of a small coffee table, he observed her quietly, trying to decide just what he was going to tell her. Because the questions would come – he had no about that. Besides, he had his own questions; the trio had been on the run for months now, and though Phineas had reported their movements whenever possible, it wasn't the same as knowing just why she had ended up here, of all places.

"Hermione," he began firmly, "coming here was a reckless and stupid decision. What on earth made you think that it was a viable option? Where are Potter and Weasley?"

She held up a trembling hand and said wryly, "One question at a time, if you please."

"How the tables have turned," Severus remarked. He bowed his head in acquiescence, satisfied by her hoarse laugh that she was at least able to function enough to converse. "Why did you come?"

Hermione sighed. "I just… I don't even know why I chose to come. But I needed – I _need_ a break and there was _nowhere_ else… there was… there was no one else," she said eventually, staring firmly into the fire, avoiding his gaze.

Severus remembered when he had left her with the Lovegood girl in his office, how she beseeched him to take care, to be safe. She would have seen the look in his eyes change, from concern to blankness as a result of the shutting down of his mind, yet still she worried for him.

And now here she was! In the office of a murderer.

"Why?" he implored her, leaning forward to rest elbows on knees. "Why did you think that I, of all people, would…" He shrugged.

"Would keep me safe?"

Severus nodded once, glad that her focus was still on the fire. It gave him the chance to study her, to mentally kick himself in the stomach for allowing his _wife_ to get into such a physical state. She swallowed thickly and bit down on her lower lip, a sign of hers that he recognised. As she worked to find a way to express herself, he dismissed the dearly missed sense of peace that was threatening to worm its way into his soul, much the same as when she would soothe his migraines or sit beside him as a quiet pillar of much desired company.

Hermione drew in a long breath. "Because, Severus Snape: you're a good actor, oh – a very, very good actor. Almost a consummate one, I might say. But you didn't fool me."

…

He sat and waited while she showered. Tink was summoned, and the eager-to-please elf was given the task of sourcing clean clothes and as much food as would fit into Hermione's seemingly bottomless bag.

The water stopped and started many times, as if she would turn it off then decide that she wasn't quite clean enough. Severus smiled to himself as he heard the sound for the fourth time. How many nights had he returned like this – unclean and shaking from the horrors he'd seen? Too many to count. It wasn't amusing – he could kill the old fool Albus once more for putting his wife in such a despicable situation – but he managed to shrug off the morose emotions for the time being.

She'd needed him. She still needed him.

He didn't quite know how he felt about that. He crossed his legs in the chair, one socked foot peeking out from the warm robes he'd thrown on while she had explained herself.

And he had thought himself successful! Severus should have thought about Hermione Snape, should have realised that she, out of everyone, would have been the one to _analyse_ his actions instead of react to them.

He had underestimated her – and he was glad of it.

…

"I want to go somewhere with you," she said quietly, her hair still damp from the shower. It looked aflame from where she sat in the firelight. Severus tilted his head.

"Where? Nowhere is safe."

She chuckled and looked down at her lap before glancing up at him from beneath her lashes. "I've just proved that as your legal spouse, I have the same Apparation rights as you. So we can both Apparate anywhere in the castle. Anywhere at all."

"The castle is about as safe as out there these days," he dismissed, waving a vague hand to the windows. "You have no idea how bad… how bad I… What I've…" He broke off. "I don't want to talk anymore."

"You don't have to," replied Hermione simply. "Remember, Severus – you can say whatever you want or as little as you want with me. Isn't that the point of having each other?"

"I don't think that was what the Law originally intended…"

"Ha!" she scoffed. "No, of course it wasn't. But I know you. After all this time – I know you. And I think you're as happy as I am, happy because we're sitting here."

Her words turned his stomach. His head fell forward and his hands reached up automatically to cradle it, hiding from her eyes. "I don't think the word 'happy' can be applied here, wife. What if you'd Apparated into a meeting with the Carrows? What if anyone else had seen you? And even now – suppose the Dark Lord decides to pay me a visit… I can't… I don't want you to… I can't imagine what would happen if – I _don't_ want to imagine what would happen –"

"But it won't! I'm here now, Severus!"

A gentle pressure on his wrists alerted him to her nearness. Carefully, almost shyly, he removed his hands and looked upon her. She was kneeling in front of him, her brow creased, her lips forming a timid smile. For what felt like the first time, he noticed how soft they looked – how the lower lip was plumper, pinker, than the upper. How they glistened, proving that she'd wet them before approaching him.

He noticed how close those lips were; how they framed her warm breath that hit his cheek each time she exhaled. He could taste her in the air – taste the mint and tea on her tongue.

Severus drew back and hunched over in the air, away from her, away from her lips. If she was disappointed, she did not show it.

"I'm here," she whispered with a small smile. "Let's go somewhere, sweetheart."

 _Sweetheart?_ Oh, how long had it been since someone had cared enough for him to let endearments tumble from their mouths? How long since his mother's voice had murmured 'my dear' or 'my boy'? And now this – this 'sweetheart'.

He knew his eyes had widened with foolish hope, one not unlike a boy's expression, a boy's longing. And for one tiny second, Hermione's eyes softened with understanding then she opened her arms and guided him to her, holding his head to her chest. She rocked his body, crooned nonsensical things, but every few breaths there was that word – s _weetheart._

Was his heart sweet? Did there remain anything within the organ that wasn't black and shriveled?

Did he deserve sweetness? Lightness? Happiness?

Severus did not weep, though he wanted to. Instead he closed his eyes and breathed slowly, barely able to process the fragile comfort that she was providing. His cheek sat between her breasts; the bud of one covered nipple was not far from him, and it would have been an easy movement to close his mouth over it, suck, and look for even more comfort to commit to memory.

He cleared his throat and, difficult and painful though it was, extricated his body from her arms. She let her hands trail away as he did so, and her smile was warm and welcoming when he finally found the strength to look right at her.

Suddenly he knew just where she would want to be.

"I'll take you somewhere," he mumbled, rising to stick his feet into his boots. "Let me get my cloak for you."


	18. Chapter 18

_Hats off to duj who was the only one to guess where this chapter was going! One more chapter and the epilogue to go. I am absolutely unapologetic for the cliffhanger, as it really isn't one. You'll see. Review replies to come tonight._

And also… 'Resolutions' is taking a holiday after a guest reviewer decided to bring their moral high ground and associated insults to the review box. I am not, nor have I ever been, thick-skinned enough to put up with such things, nor do I like reviewers of my stories to have to see such idiotic vitriol. So when I feel better about it, I'll pop the story back up.

This little corner of the internet is my happy place. Coincidentally, in my mind, my story list looks like our beloved cottage in this story. So, I hope you all will join me in settling down and entering the 'happy place' whenever you read one of my stories; we don't need anyone telling us that our preferences make us bad people, and I won't allow that in this little space that we all share every week or so.

Anyway, onwards.

* * *

 **Chapter 18**

You are in my blood like holy wine,

You taste so bitter and so sweet.

I could drink a case of you, darling.

 _Joni Mitchell_

* * *

 ** _1998_**

"You've never brought me here before. Why? This is… It's all so beautiful, Severus."

"Says the girl that stole ingredients from the storeroom. You wouldn't have been able to restrain yourself."

Hermione's peal of laughter rang out through the greenhouse. When she looked back at him from over her shoulder, her fingers trailing along the hedge of a thankfully non-Magical plant, Severus inclined his head, acknowledging the jest.

"I always thought that you went looking for these ingredients yourself! Trekking over mountains and all that."

He scoffed and folded his arms, following her slow moving trail around the plants. "A long time ago, yes. Certainly during my apprenticeship. But I have not had the inclination nor the time for over a decade now. This is easier."

"It certainly is easy," she agreed, staring up at the ceiling.

He had Apparated them both to the greenhouse, his wife's hand tucked into the crease of his elbow. She was right, of course; he hadn't brought her here before.

Severus hadn't brought anyone before, the only exception being the odd house elf or two.

Out of his many creations and discoveries, this was the one thing that he could return to, time and time again. Severus was proud of it – immensely so. Even Sprout, on the one morning that he had allowed her to inspect it, had flushed red with envy. Only three staff members were aware of it: Albus, Poppy and Pomona.

From the outside, it appeared simply as just another room on the ground floor, above his dungeon quarters. There was a set of stairs hidden behind a tapestry in his sitting room that led here, to a nondescript looking door that opened out into a room where nature was given free rein to enchant those who came to see it.

He had organise the greenhouse himself. The charms had taken weeks of research and he renewed them faithfully every year. Along the back wall were the non-Magical plants – the herbs and flowers, those that old wives tales remembered. In the middle of the room and to the left were the Magical plants that needed no change in climate, for he was fortunate enough to know a good amount of uses for the vegetation that could thrive in the climate of the Scottish Highlands.

He was most proud of the opposite side of the room. Careful charms work had created temperature controlled areas, surrounded by wards that ensured each plant had the best opportunity to maintain its usefulness. Some areas rained constantly over the pots and garden beds, while others were dry and hot.

Hermione let out another sigh of wonder, and Severus suddenly wished that he had brought her here long ago – long enough ago that she wouldn't attach a bittersweet note to her pleasure. But he could see it in the way her shoulders were hunched slightly, the way her arms were cradling her own stomach – she thought she might never see it again.

He realised then that he wanted her to.

But how?

"As long as even the most basic wards of the school are maintained," he muttered, "this room will remain. It doesn't require…"

"Your presence?"

"Indeed."

"Is that a roundabout way of saying that if you die, this greenhouse will still be here?"

She had stopped near the non-Magical plants. Her eyes were fixed on a bush covered with vibrant red roses. His throat felt thick when he swallowed.

"It is."

"Ah. Right."

Hermione tossed her head. Chestnut curls bounced back and forth with the brisk movement. "And I suppose that you're telling me this because I should prepare for it? That if you die, I can make pilgrimages here to see all the plants and the trees and the flowers? That it won't be such a loss, because at least there's a bloody garden that will survive you?"

Heart pounding, Severus left his position at the entryway and walked towards her slowly. When he was near enough, he placed a hand on her shoulder. She stiffened but he left it there, a warm weight on her quivering body.

"I do not know if I will survive, wife… You know this as well as I."

She rounded on him with a glare that made his heart burn. "Then what was the point? Why agree to marry me at all? Why not just fight it until you were saddled with someone who… who…" Defeated, she pinched the bridge of her nose. "I don't want you to die." The heaviness of her tone carried her sincerity to him and he was floored by it.

Unable to stop himself, he mumbled, "I do not wish to die either."

"You don't?"

Severus rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his flat hair. "Of course I do not! I want to see the fruits of my bloody labours come about! I want to see this war end. I want to see the Dark Lord dead. Hermione, do you think I would do all that I have done, and not give a damn about being around to at least experience life without a master? Of course I do not wish to die!"

The force with which she hit his body as she embraced him fiercely sent him to the floor, and they fell together, she in his arms and he wincing as his backside hit the stone floor. Hermione was not weeping, but her arms around him were like limbs of iron and she was laughing, chuckling hoarsely to herself and burying her face in his chest.

"You don't want to die?" she confirmed, speaking into his neck.

"I do not want to die. But if I –"

"No," she cut him off sternly. Drawing back, she adjusted herself until she was perched on his lap, her hands on his shoulders. With the clear roof of the greenhouse, the moon shone in and cast a silvery glow on her hair. "No 'ifs' or 'buts'. You don't want to die, so you won't."

"I won't?" he repeated, closing his eyes and snorting quietly. "If you say so, oh naïve wife of mine."

"I _do_ say so. And that's that."

When he opened his eyes again, she was biting her lip and reaching out to tuck a stray hair behind his ear. When her fingers trailed down his cheek, he leaned into her touch and sighed.

"That's that, then."

"Yes," said Hermione. "Now – tell me about the greenhouse. I want to hear all about it."

…

They sat beneath a small lilac tree. His back was leaning against the short wooden fence that he had erected in front of his more favoured plants, and Hermione had worked her body between his thighs. She rested with her back on his chest, her knees drawn up while his hands sat limply on his own thighs.

He wanted to touch her. Why? How had this come about? He wanted the comfort of it, yes, but there was desire there, too… Desire, and a sense of time running away from them. Soon she would have to leave, and he would no longer have the warm, pleasant weight of her leaning against his chest. Even through the robes and pyjamas that he wore underneath, Severus could feel her shoulder-blades; the curve of her spine; the scratch of her curls.

She breathed in deeply, and Severus fancied that he knew her well enough to know that her eyelids were fluttering.

"The smell… all of the scents, really – but this one in particular…" Hermione tipped her head back to better see the tree. "It's divine."

"It is," he answered quietly, reluctant to damage the delicate atmosphere between them.

She eased back against him. Her hands reached out hesitantly, before they settled over his fingers. He allowed her to thread their hands together on his thighs, though he did not even wish to begin working out just why he accepted her touch so readily.

"My parents used to grow lilacs," she remarked pensively. "Mum always found them a bit dull, but Dad's mother apparently had a garden full of them."

"You did not know her?"

"Oh, no. Dad's mum died before I was born. Still, I could always _feel_ her somehow – mostly when Dad and I would do the gardening together during the summer holidays. I haven't… I haven't been able to do that for a long time now. Too long."

Choosing to say nothing in case she wished to speak further, Severus rested his chin on the top of her head. It felt daring to do so, as if he had crossed a line, but it was one she herself had drawn by sitting so closely by him and so he did not spare any thought on it.

She went on to say, "Mum and Dad's wedding song was 'Lilac Wine'. They danced to it – I've watched the videos over and over… more so after I sent them away… it's a bit of an off the wall choice, but it's very beautiful. Have you heard it?"

Knowingly, he shocked her and drawled softly, "I have indeed."

"Really?" Hermione pushed on his thighs to bounce up and around until she crouched in front of him, her eyes shining with excitement. "You've heard it? I didn't expect that."

"Why not?" he countered. "How could I have grown up in a working class area and not been exposed to music? Use that brain of yours," he teased, tapping her temple gently, smirking at her grimace. "I happen to be a man of taste," Severus ended with, snorting when her eyes widened.

"Really?" she repeated.

"Not really," he said between chuckles. "Rather the opposite: leather jackets and all that. It _was_ the seventies," he added, defending himself against her chortles that were growing ever louder by the second. "Hush, you."

Hermione merely giggled again and folded her legs down until she was kneeling between his thighs. "Do you have any photos?"

"Why – should they be gifted to a museum? I'm thirty eight, not seventy eight."

"No!" she swatted at his chest. "I just wish I could've seen you! Sounds like I missed out on a fine sight."

"A 'fine sight'?" he echoed, both eyebrows curving upwards. "Wife, if you're going to spend the evening making impertinent comments about my appearance, then…"

"Then what?" she hurled back immediately, shuffling forward on her knees. The graceless movement drew his attention to her face – like earlier, her lips were so close, just a few inches away. "I like hearing you laugh. And if I have to make impertinent comments to make you laugh, then I'll make them. Unless…"

Intrigued, Severus noted the way her eyes darted to his mouth. If it were any other time, any other moment, he'd have stopped whatever this was immediately. She was frightened, disturbed… she was on the run, for goodness' sake. Yet he, too, was hardly sleeping and spent his patrols flinching at every damn shadow.

"Unless what?" he baited her.

Hesitation splashed across her face, though it was quickly replaced with curiosity. He could almost _hear_ her mind whirling, considering her options, wondering how far she could go.

And Severus, in a move that was so uncharacteristic that it shocked the both of them, leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers. Swiftly she returned the kiss, her clumsy lips pushing eagerly onto his, though she did not try to coax his mouth open. With inhibitions already cast aside, Severus groaned at the mint he tasted on her lips, the sweet, careful way she was attempting to kiss him.

How long had he wanted this, without ever realising it? Perhaps he hadn't ever wanted it; but he wanted it _now._ Very much.

Slowly, he raised his hands and cupped her face; he felt the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips, and she whimpered. Tilting her head just so until he could kiss her firmly, he swallowed her mewl of surprise that she gave as he pulled on her lower lip ever so gently with his teeth, bidding her to open for him.

And when she responded in the way he had hoped, it undid him. With shaking hands Hermione ran her fingers through his hair, her nails lightly running over his scalp as her tongue slid into his mouth. He moaned, knowing that they couldn't continue, but desperate to simply have this moment with her, his wife, his witch even if just for a night.

She fit perfectly on his lap, her upper body there for him to touch, to discover. Slowly he trailed a line down her spine, savouring the way that she squirmed, unwittingly fitting over his erection as if she had intended to do it. He felt, rather than heard, her gasp of surprise as she registered his arousal but it seemed to push her further – Hermione linked her hands behind his neck and crushed her mouth to his, her body now astride him as she rocked back and forth.

His eyes were closed, yet the heat of her still overwhelmed him; colours swirled behind his lids – red, gold and white hot desire.

He had to stop. _They_ had to stop. Their time was dripping away and he knew she had to return from whatever cold and windy place she'd left behind.

But he didn't want to.

Sighing, his hands left her waist and returned to her face, stroking her cheeks, her jaw, smoothing over her hair. As if she sensed his reticence, Hermione gentled her attentions, their lips only pressing together softly in small pecks that were so tender, so heartfelt, that Severus knew he would return to this again and again in a pensieve. It would become his driving force, the memory that would propel his feet forward in the slow march towards either his death or victory.

When finally she pulled away, her clean hair was messy again, and her lips were plump and shining. Her smile was hopeful and he knew that when he returned it, the discovery of just how much he cared for her was mirrored within her own eyes.

…

She left not long after.

Severus returned to his office. If Tink noticed the small cutting of lilacs that now adorned the Headmaster's desk, he wisely said nothing.

…

The lilacs remained there, Hermione's stasis charm keeping them fresh and pleasantly scented. Even on the morning of the final Battle, Severus took one long breath in with his nose before he left the office, not realising that it was to be for the last time.

…

Arthur Weasley trudged out of the doors of the Great Hall. His face was creased with shock and sadness.

He carried a heavy, dead weight.

Severus dropped to his knees and howled.

…

Her heart had stopped. His beautiful wife…

He carried her in his arms, unhearing, unseeing. The success of the Apparation to St. Mungo's came down to good fortune alone.

…

In the Headmaster's Office, high above the carnage of the field below, the sprig of lilacs wilted.

…

Severus returned to his former desk only once; he hurried in and grabbed what he thought he would need, pausing only to check the bathroom for any toiletries she'd left behind.

The dead flowers in the small vase were forgotten as soon as they were sighted.

"Clean it all up," he ordered absentmindedly, wincing as Tink bowed, the elf already sporting a forlorn expression. "The new Headmistress will need to be in by tomorrow morning."

"H-how is Madam Snape, Master?"

Severus hung his head. "Stable, for now."

"When will Madam Snape be waking, Master?"

He sighed and readied his body to return to his wife's bedside.

"Soon."

…

 ** _2001_**

Severus had been a fool, but he would be a fool no longer.

He surveyed his handiwork and gave one short nod. Mog rubbed his cheek against his trouser leg, and Severus scooped the kitten up in his arms and made his way back into the cottage.

Tink popped into the sitting room as he entered. "Would Master like tea?"

"No, no," he muttered, eyes fixed on the front door. He was not in the mood.

"Master is unhappy?"

"Master is…" Severus paused as he heard the tell-tale clicking of Hermione's low heels coming down the lane towards their little cottage at the end. "Master is… discombobulated."

That was certainly true – it hadn't even occurred to him that he was referring to himself in the third person.

The clicking came closer. The gate squeaked.

"Tink? Take the night off."

She was marching towards the door.

"It's just you and me now, kid," he mumbled to the kitten, who only nudged his hand lest he stop scratching under its chin. Pippin, home for once, hooted indignantly from the corner of the room. "And you," Severus amended.

He heard a small huff outside – he could picture Hermione easily, standing with her arms crossed over her chest. She'd be scowling, to be sure; scowling because of her most hated feeling: not knowing. By now, Lavender must have told her that he'd left the party, and Severus could only hope that his wife hadn't tried searching for him somewhere else before coming home. He wanted her feeling open, receptive. Not pissed off and tired.

The door handle turned.

He looked down at the kitten and sighed, schooling his features so as not to display the nerves that had pooled in his stomach from the minute he'd left the Burrow.

Hermione opened the door, took one look at man and cat, and let out a loud shriek of laughter. Mog whipped his head around to see the cackling newcomer. The young witch's laughs only intensified as two pairs of eyes stared at her, unsure of what on earth was going on.

"Hermione?" Severus began hesitantly, taking one step towards her. Mog's claws dug into his frock coat, as if in protest at being any closer to the wild haired witch.

"Sorry!" she said, wiping her eyes. "Good lord, have you any idea what you both looked like?" She struck a pose, her back straightening and face frowning, while her hands mimicked stroking the kitten. "Like a lord and his pet!"

He shrugged off the jest. "Where were you?"

"Looking for you," she shot back, brown eyes narrowing. She stepped up to him and laid a hand on his arm before asking softly, "Wherever did you go, Severus? Why did Charlie bloody Weasley tell me that you were jealous of Ron and I sitting together?"

"Charles?" Severus repeated, slightly flustered. "Not Lavender Brown? Charles? And… _jealous_?"

"Percy hit him with a silencing spell, Poppy whacked him, and Lavender hexed him, if that helps."

"It does," he growled, then vowed to put in a good word for Percy with the Healer, if she ever warmed to the idea.

"Lavender also said that you had to do something..."

"Did she now?"

"Yes…" Hermione pursed her lips. "Why does my Healer know something that I don't?"

"She doesn't," said Severus quickly, heading off a senseless argument. "She's too damn perceptive."

"Ah." She shifted on her feet, anxiously looking around the room. "What did you have to do?"

"I think that can wait…"

"Why?" Her eyes bore into his. "Have I done something? Truly, Severus, were you jealous? I mean, it's just Ron – for Merlin's sake, aren't we past that? Don't you feel –"

Glowering at the mere thought of it, Severus bent down to release the kitten then rose to his full height. He put a finger over his wife's lips. She blushed instantly, though it was one of uncertainty and not arousal. He vowed to change that as soon as he could.

"I have some things to say, wife," he said firmly. "And I would like it if you would listen."

Hermione bristled and nodded. But as soon as he removed his finger from her lips, she opened her mouth and snarled, "You don't trust me!"

With a roll of his eyes, Severus crossed the room and sat down on the couch. Knowing that she wouldn't be able to resist either an argument or the opportunity to learn where he'd gone, he waited until she grumbled under her breath then sat down beside him with a huff.

"I have some things to say," he repeated, turning on the couch to face her fully. Impatiently, he waved a hand, making a significant effort not to smile at the way she blew out another breath and swiveled around. Merlin, but she was lovely when she was making a scene.

"Go ahead!" she declared imperiously. "But if you think for one moment that –"

"Enough!" he thundered. "Give it a rest, woman! For once, stop that vibrant, spinning mind of yours long enough to _listen_!"

She looked down at her lap. "Sorry."

"Oh, bloody hell…" he complained, reaching forward to tilt her face back up. "Don't be sorry! Just… just listen. Please."

"All right, all right!"

"Good." Severus lowered the pitch of his voice and finally allowed the flat line of his mouth to crack slightly, the left side turning up in a small, fond smile. Seeing this, Hermione's shoulders seemed to slump a little and she grimaced; already she understood him well enough to suspect she was wrong.

"First off," he said, "though it shouldn't be the first – it should be the end, but you have jumped to conclusions and I feel I must set it right." Severus took a breath in, wondering for a moment at just how much he could possibly love her to even have this conversation. A lot, he decided. Possibly with all of his heart.

"I am not. Jealous. Of. Ronald. Bloody. Weasley. I never _have been_ and I never _will be_! How could you think such a thing?"

The blush on Hermione's cheeks drained. "But you left and –"

"I had something to do," he explained softly. "I saw you two sitting together, yes. But if you think that such a sight would prompt me to… do whatever it is that you think I've been doing, then you are utterly in the wrong."

"I am?" Her voice was timid, shy.

"Of course you bloody well are! I trust you, Hermione!" Brandishing his left hand, he waved it around, letting her eyes focus on the silver wedding band. "You're my _wife_. You took _vows._ You're _living with me._ Good grief, do you think so little of me?"

"I swear that I don't, I just –"

"It's all right," he soothed her, his hand now cupping her cheek. When she sighed and leaned into his touch, he grinned and repeated, "I trust you. Whatever they told you, they're wrong. Completely." Years ago he might have been perturbed by such ridiculous accusations, but he knew the Weasley men; the younger ones were all bluster and brashness. He already knew that _she_ trusted _him_ – that was as clear as day, and so he could hardly concern himself with misunderstandings.

"Really?"

"You have to ask?"

Her answer was immediate and placating. "No," she whispered, moving closer until he was able to tuck her under his arm. She leaned her cheek on his chest. "I just thought… It's just been so _wonderful_ with you… and I was sure that I'd bollocks it all up somehow. You supported me for so long and I didn't deserve any of it –"

"You did deserve it," said Severus clearly. "Enough of that."

"Well," she continued, "I was just… waiting for the sickle to drop, I suppose. Because how can one woman be so lucky as to have you sit at her side for _years,_ and then take her in? To put up with all of her maddening habits and make her feel like she's the safest, most cared for woman in the world? Why have you been so _good_ to me? I don't deserve you…"

"I think that's for me to decide," he muttered, silently thanking the heavens above that he was not a young man anymore – he would've spent months agonising over whether or not _he_ deserved _her._ At least he was secure enough in her affections to leave that aside. "But that wasn't what I wanted to say."

She smiled, chastened. "It wasn't? My knight in shining armour now has more ways to outstrip any other man?"

Severus coughed in an attempt to cover the flash of male pride that made his cheeks sport two twin spots of red. Not that he believed her, of course, but he certainly wouldn't bother to object.

"I am sorry," Hermione whispered, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. Her lips were dry but soft, and she lingered just long enough for the truth of her words to carry. "I truly am. I didn't doubt you – not for a second. I was angry at myself – not at you. Never at you. I thought I'd ruined everything. And I can't…" she trailed off and crawled into his lap, burying her face in his neck. Her body trembled, and Severus knew then that he loved her with a passion that almost felt as if it were outside of his body. As if it had a life of its own; as if it were _tangible._

"I can't lose you, Severus. Please, don't ever leave…"

He tightened his grip on her and shushed her, his hands running over her back and waist, soothing her in the best way he knew how. That she cared so damn much to cry over him, if the dampness on his neck was anything to go by... It filled him with the sweetest form of relief – dare he hope that she returned his feelings? That she loved him as he did her?

"Hermione," he said gently. "Come now, wife. I haven't even finished what I wanted to say."

"Sorry," she said again, her hiccoughs drawing a laugh from her mouth. "I'll be quiet."

"I certainly hope you won't be _quiet,_ " he drawled, "but at least hear me out. Yes?"

"Yes."

Severus considered ambling along, explaining himself with flowery words and honey-tongued expressions. He twisted one finger around in Hermione's hair, and wondered if he should have prepared for this; written notes, perhaps. And then he snorted and placed a kiss to his wife's head.

With aplomb worthy of his next words, he announced, "I am completely and irrevocably in love with you, Hermione. I just wanted to make sure that you knew that."

She scrambled back and stared at him with a smile that he could easily place as incandescent. "You're _what_?"

…


	19. Chapter 19

_One more chapter to go! Thank you all so very much. I'm just ecstatic that this has been received so well. This story has truly been the highlight of this hobby writing thus far. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Will you forgive me for the lack of review replies for the last chapter? So many of them are about Alan, and the waterworks will just turn back on if I re-read them. But each one brought me happiness, and I am grateful to you all. Thank you to everyone who thought of me, and felt comfortable enough with me to send me messages expressing your feelings… it was an honour to receive them._

 _On a lighter note, I wonder what Severus is planning…_

* * *

 **Chapter 19**

Tilt my hat at the sun  
And the shadows they burn dark  
Light me and I'll burn for you  
And the love song never stops

 _INXS_

* * *

With only a week and a half before the summer holidays were to begin, Severus found himself taking the stairs and heading towards the Hospital Wing. He still hadn't shown Hermione what he had been down on his knees doing in the courtyard, though he'd only kept the secret close to his chest since the previous weekend. Compared to all of the other secrets he'd kept, this was positively easy.

He burst through the double doors without bothering to knock. Poppy spun around in surprise from where she had been sitting at her desk near the end of the ward, and then the matronly nurse rolled her eyes.

"You always have known how to make an entrance," she remarked drily, setting aside a small stack of parchment.

He cocked an eyebrow and sat in the chair on the other side of the desk. "When one is a teacher in a co-educational boarding school, one must have a variety of techniques in one's–"

"Arse!"

"– _arsenal,_ " he bit out with a snort. "You bloody harridan."

Poppy looked entirely too pleased with herself. Smugly, she crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. "So, are you going to finally tell me what occurred last weekend?"

"No."

"Oh!" Poppy tapped her wand a little too loudly on the desk, and a tea tray appeared a handful of seconds later. "You are an incorrigible boy. I don't know how on _earth_ your wife puts up with you."

"Boy?" he echoed, grunting with feigned annoyance. "I haven't been a boy for thirty years!"

"You'll always be one to me, _boyo,_ " the nurse hurled back, a titter escaping her pursed lips when he grumbled. "Now, I assume that you have a reason for being here, as you haven't visited me just for the sake of it in _weeks._ "

He shifted in his seat, feeling about as small as the spoon he was using to stir the sugar into his tea with. He wasn't about to admit that for once in his damn life, he'd been so busy shagging that he couldn't – oh, sod it. Why bloody not?

Severus looked up and arched a very smug eyebrow, causing Poppy to choke on her mouthful of tea. "Oh, _Merlin,_ " she exclaimed, rapping knuckles on her chest to overcome the coughing fit. "Have some pity on an old woman!"

"I don't think so," he drawled, crossing one leg over the other. "You did ask."

"I did not!"

"Oh, please," he dismissed, "that was tantamount to asking for a timetable!"

"To a Slytherin, perhaps," responded Poppy, now looking red-faced, albeit disturbingly satisfied. "Anyway, I'm glad of it. It's about time."

Severus scowled and muttered, "It's also none of your business."

"You mentioned it first!"

"I most certainly did _not!_ "

"Pish. Now tell me what happened last weekend," the nurse demanded bluntly, ignoring his groan. "You rushed off, and Lavender sent her ruddy Patronus to Healer Anthrop back at the hospital, thinking that she'd need to bring Hermione in after your wife became _concerned_ about your whereabouts! You weren't jealous, surely?"

"Absolutely not," snarled Severus, straightening his cuffs. "There was something that I wished to do, and I did not wish to delay doing it." Never mind that he hadn't even shown Hermione what he'd done, but Poppy didn't need to know that.

"And it was…?"

"None of your business!"

"I see." She adjusted her cap. "Well, that's your own business. At least give me the gossip, then."

"Harpy," he named her, smirking as she tittered and nodded. "Fine." At this, Poppy let loose with a beam from ear to ear and happily went on drinking her tea. Severus took a moment to arrange the words then began with, "The Weasley boy wishes to _atone._ "

"Oho! Does he now?" Poppy crowed, pushing a biscuit towards him. "By Merlin, it took him long enough."

"Mmm." Severus was inclined to agree; his wife shared the sentiment. "He confessed that he had not visited much, as well as how badly he botched the marriage to Ms. Brown."

Poppy rubbed her hands together and barked out a vicious sounding laugh. "That's quite the understatement."

"Indeed. His reasoning as to why he had been such a fool since our marriage was, of course, his undying love for Hermione." Severus grimaced and shrugged. "Hermione disagreed, and said that it was his own shortcomings; that surely he could not love her as he professed to, when he blatantly disregarded something that made her happy."

"Ahh…" Poppy sighed, looking proud. "Did she mention to Ronald exactly what it was that made her happy? Then and now?"

"I have been led to believe that I am the reason for her happiness," Severus answered stiffly, still unable to process that she had always cared for him so. And yet she had said it – from the moment he'd told her of his love for her, said it so simply as they sat on the couch on the weekend, Hermione had declared that she had loved him with all of her heart for far longer than he'd ever deemed possible. Even now the admission floored him – he barely even knew what to do with such admiration, such affection, though he was determined to ensure that he could receive her love just as naturally as she did his.

"And what did the boy have to say about that?"

"I didn't ask," Severus said matter-of-factly. "I do not wish to know; Hermione did not deem it important, and so it isn't. Regardless, she informed him that if he does not… 'up his game', then their friendship will be ended."

"About time!" Poppy interjected with a brisk nod. "His sense of entitlement has always been concerning."

"It has," he said slowly, aware that his friend had just put a name to exactly why Severus had been bothered by the youngest Weasley male since his marriage. "Still, she offered to forgive him for the lack of visits, but advised that it would never be as it was before the Marriage Law; she was too offended by his behaviour with Ms. Brown to accept him back into the immediate fold, so to speak."

"Have you told Lavender that? She'd appreciate it, I'm sure."

"Of course not!" Severus exclaimed. "Christ, it is enough of an annoyance to repeat it now. I don't want to go over it _again._ "

"All right, I'll be the one to tell her."

He nodded and grinned – Poppy always did read between the lines. "Good. And since then, I've received an interesting missive."

She leant forward and raised her eyebrows; her wrinkled forehead stood out on her face that was usually still so plump and smooth for her age, and Severus wondered just how long he'd have her by his side. A long while, if her tenaciousness was anything to go by.

"Let's see it then."

Having prepared for the meeting, he took out the small letter that had arrived the previous evening. Hermione had taken one look at it and nodded approvingly, and he handed it over, wondering what the nurse would think of it.

Poppy huffed. "That's it? _'Professor Snape, I apologise.'_ How creative."

"Apparently that's how to tell that he is sincere," Severus said, spreading his hands with a smirk. "Hermione tells me that he would have sprouted off a flowery worded apology if he was only following her orders."

"That sounds about right," Poppy mused, chuckling as she refolded the letter. "I seem to remember another young boy being quite blunt at the best of times." A wave of her hand send it back into his waiting palm.

He sneered and rose to his feet. "I don't know what you're going on about, old woman. And one more thing…" There was one more gift left to organise for Hermione, and Severus fixed his gaze to the wall instead of looking into Poppy's eyes, knowing full well her penchant for blubbering. "I'd like to purchase the cottage from you… if you'd allow it. For… for us to live in. Permanently."

He was not surprised when instead of answering, Poppy leapt out of her chair and came rushing around the desk before throwing her arms around him, her movements jerky; neither of them were particularly used to expressing themselves physically.

"Oh, Severus," she exclaimed quietly, pulling back to smile at him with watery eyes. She adjusted his collar and he frowned down at her, though one side of his mouth tilted up. The fondness he felt for the much older witch seemed to paint itself onto his face without his permission, and Poppy sniffed loudly.

"Severus," she repeated, patting his chest. "You're a good man, you know."

He scoffed, but stayed silent.

"You are!" Poppy said. "And that's all there is to it. But I won't take your money."

Disappointment coursed through him, but he remained where he was, fighting the urge to storm out. "I understand –"

"No you don't, you big oaf." She swatted at him with a warm laugh. "It's yours, my boy. I'm too old to have anything to do with it, and it cost next to nothing when I bought it all of those years ago. Make me happy and keep it, Severus. And when the time comes, I'll leave it to the both of you." Poppy rubbed at her eyes.

What could he say? Severus stared at her, dumbfounded, and then did the only thing he could think of. Unwilling to speak incase his voice broke, he instead opened his arms and drew her into an embrace, resting his cheek on her hair as she alternated between sniffing and laughing into his black woolen chest.

…

On the Friday evening after his discussion with Poppy, he realised that still, there was something else.

He wanted to do something more… something… formal.

Severus slowed his steps and stopped at the beginning of the lane. He couldn't quite pinpoint why he had such a desire to please her; they were already married, after all.

 _Ah. And there lies the problem._

They were already married.

He scuffed his boot on the ground and blew out a long breath. If he had found himself in love with a woman in the past, he would have hastened to wed her – of course he would. It was a natural inclination, considering his lack of anything pleasant for his own whilst growing up. Merlin, he enjoyed his life so much now that he couldn't even picture living alone anymore.

 _So what am I to do?_

It would be folly to propose – there was already a ring on her finger! _And mine,_ he amended, lifting his left hand as he squinted at the silver band.

They hadn't had a wedding, true, but there was no one who didn't know that Hermione Snape was his wife. It would be pointless to do it again.

Although…

Severus' head snapped up. His smirk came slowly, but by the time he began walking again, he was nodding to himself and storing his new plans safely in the very depths of his mind. He hadn't Occluded for years; it seemed that he finally had a good enough reason.

When he met Hermione in the sitting room, his features were open and friendly. Thankfully, his wife missed the curious glint to his eyes that sparked when he managed to scrawl a quick letter and have it out the window with Pippin while she was heating leftovers.

"Did you send a letter?" Hermione asked when she returned, two steaming plates following in the air behind her. "I heard Pippin –"

"No," he said quickly, glancing up at her as he closed his book. "I sent him to fetch Mog a snack."

"Oh, god, you didn't," she groaned, her shoulders sagging. "Crooks already brought in a rat the size of one of your boots." The orange cat in the corner meowed and Severus examined his foot. Hermione's familiar had cleared quarantine a fortnight ago; Helen and Richard had dropped him off only the day before. Instead of remarking on the squashed, pinched face of the cat, he scowled at his foot.

"My feet are not overly large," he grumbled.

When she let out a tinkling laugh, Severus congratulated himself on a well-executed distraction.

...

Their bodies were stretched out on the bed. Two pairs of legs were intertwined, and Severus lowered his nose to her hair for what must have been the thousandth time. He breathed her in – nay, he _drank_ in the scent of her hair, the curls now wild and frizzy from their sweat inducing sex.

Hermione wriggled in his arms and gave a tiny gurgle of laughter when he growled, his hands clamping down on her offending backside that seemed so determined to catch his attention. She settled with a soft sigh, and her hands came up to hold onto the arm that was now loosely draped around her waist.

"I love you," she mumbled, the newness of the phrase still bringing a smile to his lips. He said nothing, and she squirmed again. "I love you."

Severus hummed and closed his eyes. "I know."

He was curled around her body; they shared the same pillow. Her skin was warm and sleep beckoned, though he knew she wasn't finished. Never let it be said that his wife could start something that she wouldn't finish.

"I love you," she said again.

A rumble from his chest was the answer, and Hermione giggled. "Do you want me to beg?" she asked impishly, her voice just above a whisper. "Because I will, you know."

"Go ahead," he purred sleepily, barely able to crack one eye open. "Beg."

Another titter reached his ears from beneath the fog that he had begun to descend into. "The _only thing in the world_ that I want to hear is –"

"I love you," he cut in, his voice heavy with teasing and tiredness. Again she laughed, louder this time, and he broke the surface of the fog for long enough to mutter, "Now let me sleep, woman, or I swear I shall go mad."

…

"I have something to show you," said Severus as he summoned a towel and headed for the bathroom. Hermione was still cocooned in the blankets; he could just see her slightly upturned nose poking out, along with her usual morning tangles.

"Something that requires you to be out of bed so early on a Saturday? Come back," she implored cheekily, stretching and sticking a hand out from underneath the blankets to beckon him to return. "It's cold."

"It's almost summer," he responded flatly, jerking his chin to the bright sky visible through the window. "Is this how you managed to save the wizarding world? Lying abed like a sloth?"

The teasing jibe sent her grumbling and growling as she threw back the covers, and Severus stifled a chuckle when she ran over to hold onto his hips.

"Unhand me!"

"That's what you get," she declared, shuffling along behind him as he made for the bathroom. "Wake me, and you must suffer the consequences."

"You're awfully chipper."

"Two reasons," his wife announced with aplomb worthy of the enthusiastic hands that she directed downwards to cup his buttocks. When she dug her nails into each cheek, Severus huffed and hastened his steps. "The first being: you have something for me."

"Ah."

"Indeed. I like presents."

"Do you now?"

"I do."

A wave of his hand had the water gushing out of the shower head, and he turned to face her, one eyebrow already raised. "What makes you think it's a present?"

Unperturbed, Hermione stepped into the shower cubicle and ran her hands over his chest, her fingertips pausing to stroke through the thin black hair over his sternum. After placing one small kiss between his collarbones, she grinned and nipped at his neck. He shook his head, affecting nonchalance, but secretly delighted in all of her attention – the scratching of her nails on his chest was divine, and the soft nips of her teeth on his body made him sigh with pleasure.

"It's a present," she murmured, "because it's from you. I'm sure that I will love it."

"Hmm," he remarked. "You might. Next."

"Oh, yes. My second reason for being chipper is as follows: I have a deliciously scrumptious man in the shower with me, and I think I should like to have my way with him."

Her hands wandered lower and Severus' head fell back, making contact with the shower wall. A groan escaped his lips when her hands encircled his penis; her sure strokes combined with the tongue that lapped at the water running over his nipples made him tremble with desire.

Severus could barely believe his good fortune; it seemed too much that not only had he a family – a loving, beautiful family – but also, his wife wished to bestow her affection on his body as often as she could. Keeping up with a woman half his age was beginning to take its toll on his back; perhaps he should look into designing a new potion…

"Did you hear me?" Hermione teased, taking one step forward, the movement bringing her flush against him. "I said–"

He growled and dug his fingers into her hips, hoisting her up until she was forced to link her legs around his waist. Stepping forward until she was against the shower wall, he murmured, "Less talking, more being chipper, if you please."

…

To be sheathed within her in such a way was nothing short of pure bliss. He could barely breathe, so lost was he; she clenched around him again and he whimpered, his thrusts slowing as he tried to forestall his body's demand for release. He searched for anything, _anything,_ that could prolong such pleasure but Hermione squeezed her muscles with a devious little laugh and he hurtled towards his orgasm with a long, loud groan.

When at last he could raise his head from where it rested on her shoulder, he watched as she disentangled her shaking legs and stood beside him. The warm water from the shower ran over her body, and he lifted one index finger and let it follow one droplet from her neck to her belly.

"Minx," muttered Severus; for all of his early waking, he was already shattered.

Hermione tittered and tilted her head to the side, her arms reaching around him to pull him into her embrace. "But you enjoyed it."

He gave a short, incredulous laugh and shook his head. "You'll be the death of me. I'll have to start drinking Pepper-Up every damn morning." Despite the half-truth – he really would need to start exercising again, or at least give up his penchant for sickly sweet coffees – Severus let his hands wander over her back, squeezing each of her buttocks in turn. Miraculously, he felt a spark of arousal within him as he explored her smooth flesh, kneading and stroking.

"Back to bed?" she suggested, her smirk entirely becoming.

The protest that came in response to her words was completely without feeling.

…

When they rose again, he tugged on her hand and pulled her behind him. They made short work of the stairs and soon stood together before the kitchen doors that led out into the courtyard.

Severus nervously ran a hand through his hair. Not one for giving or receiving gifts until his marriage, it still felt jarring to lay his heart out so plainly for her perusal. For he was doing just that: if she did not understand, if she did not agree, then… ah, well. He would give her this now, and the documents for the cottage could wait until the summer holidays – _and my other surprise,_ he added with a smirk – began next week.

"You might not like it," he started, trailing off to clear his throat. Awkwardly, he began again with a huffed, "But it's for you and I'd like it if you would view it."

Hermione's beaming smile made something flip over in his stomach. "Of course I'll look!" she exclaimed, her small hand reaching up to cup his cheek. He leant into the warmth and pressed his lips together. "Don't be so nervous," she said gently. His eyes flew open and he tensed; as always, her uncanny knack of detecting his emotional state left him defensive and unsure.

"I'm not nervous," he grumbled.

"You are!" she returned laughingly. "But it's all right. I rather like that you are."

"You _do_?" He took both of her hands within his larger grasp.

"Of course I do! What woman wouldn't love that her man –" Severus almost tuned her out at that; his enjoyment at being referred to in such a base, possessive way was close to ridiculous. Hermione paused and snorted, seemingly catching his thoughts, and he ducked his head with flaming cheeks.

"As I was saying," she continued imperiously, "what woman wouldn't love that her _man,_ her _wizard,_ her _very own husband,_ feels nervous about gifting her something? It's beyond flattering that you care for my opinion."

"Is it?" he pressed, narrowing his eyes. "You're mocking me." There was no venom in it; he kept merely enough flatness in his tone just so he could see – ah, there it was. Her wide brown eyes shone as she tossed her head with impatience, and he grinned.

"Show me the present," she demanded, clapping her hands together as if she were a queen holding court. "Come on!"

…

It would be years before he stopped regularly thinking of the look upon his wife's face when she saw his gift: the joy, laughter and excitement. Her kisses that followed were even sweeter; slow and indulgent, they spoke more of her love and understanding than any words could have done.

Perhaps it might have been strange that planting such a small, delicate lilac sapling could induce such happiness, but it did.


	20. Chapter 20

_A/N: I can't believe that we're here at the end. What an amazing journey! I am so, so grateful to everyone who took the time to be involved with this story, whether it was by following, adding it to your favourites, reviewing, or cheering me on in Livejournal discussions. I'm honoured. Speaking of Livejournal – I will be adding some photos for this chapter in particular on my journal, which is under the username of lenaa1987. You are all very welcome to pop over and visit!_

 _Allow me to thank Banglabou (who also beta'd this chapter, and has my eternal thanks for doing so), savine-snape, worrywart, ms. anthrop, orlando-switch, HatakeHinata and AdelaideArcher. Without such a team of fabulous women, I would still be agonising over posting anything at all._

 _This entire story was inspired by Nina Simone's 'Lilac Wine'. She wasn't the first to sing it, nor was she the original writer (James Shelton)._

 _One last thing – within the fortnight, I will be posting a one-shot that is within this universe for the 300_ _th_ _reviewer. So if you're hoping to stay in our cottage for a little longer, it will be posted in a separate story soon._

 _Thank you all, very much. – Lena._

* * *

 **Chapter 20**

I lost myself on a cool, damp night

Gave myself in that misty light

Was hypnotized by a strange delight

Under a lilac tree

 _As sung by Nina Simone_

* * *

 **Ubud, Bali**

The air was heavy and humid, cloaking the strange looking pair with sweat. They trudged up the winding lane together, avoiding the locals on motorcycles and scooters that weaved around them in the early morning sun. Often, grinning little children clinging on to their mother's waists would point at the two, before waving to the tall, pale man with a nose not unlike the ceremonial masks that depicted the local gods. He would bow his head to them, and sometimes, though it was rare, even crack a smile or two.

The young woman, too, drew her fair share of attention. Young men smiled with an innocent ease, and grandmothers stopped sweeping tiled floors to call out words of praise for catching an older man who would surely be wealthy and well connected. Hermione could only laugh and clap her hands as she discreetly tapped the amulet around her neck, charmed to translate her words into the local dialect.

With the plastic shopping bags looped around his wrist, Severus waited as his wife chatted to yet another local readying her shop for the day. He watched her fondly, eyes following her every move; oh, but she was beautiful. Her chestnut curls were piled up high on her head, though a few tendrils were tickling her neck. She wore a plain white cotton tee-shirt and a pair of wide, grey linen trousers bought in the market on their first day in the town. Bangles were stacked on her delicate wrists, and her skin had already tanned a light golden brown from the Indonesian sun. They had only been in their modest villa for a week, yet she moved through the town and surrounding villages with an ease that at first, Severus envied, but then he found that he, too, walked with a relaxed, slow gait and stopped more often than not.

There was much to see and do on the tiny island. Sometimes they sat in cafés at the top of Monkey Forest road and watched the tourists – tall, blonde Europeans with designer attire, or flushed looking Australians that exclaimed over each tiny trinket – and other times, he made love to her on crisp, white sheets while the fan worked to keep them cool in the stifling heat.

It was, Severus had decided when they'd first walked out from the tiny reception area that the Portkey had delivered them to, a magical place. His sarcastic sense of humour could not even bear to scoff at such a description – there was magic _everywhere._

Local children danced in the temples at night, and weaved natural, silent spells to tell the stories of their ancestors. A woman snapped their fingers and suddenly a crowd of tourists noticed her wares, sitting previously forgotten because she'd arrived too late to set up in the shade. Cooks muttered under their breaths as sauces took shape, and women made no sound at all as they walked in the morning mist to leave tenderly crafted offerings in the temples.

Severus was enthralled by it – and his wife was amazed. She kept a hold on his hand as she gestured to a new shop or hotel, one that hadn't been here when she'd visited with her parents long ago. When they stumbled upon a used book store that catered to the international crowd, she'd cried out with delight and all but dove in, her fingers skimming the titles reverently before he'd even caught his breath.

Each morning they left the villa and walked down the lane before arriving in the village for a local breakfast. Then, if his sweaty and adventurous maiden should require it, they'd amble into the small grocery store a few minutes further into town.

Upon returning to the villa, he would strip her damp clothes and run his hands over her body, spreading the soap as the cold shower removed the bubbles. And then they swam together, his long, pale arms spreading out like wings as he propelled his body through the water of the pool that sat directly in front of the back doors of the house.

In the water Hermione was a vision, a water nymph sent to give him only the most pleasurable torment.

…

"Are we really here?" she whispered, trailing her fingers through the hair on his chest. Severus stirred, having almost been lulled to sleep by her ministrations.

"We've been here a fortnight," he reminded her. "Is it so hard to believe?"

But he knew that it was. Severus could barely even understand how fate had brought him here, to this hot, humid island. It was as far from his usual habitat as possible, but more than that – Hermione was here. With _him._ And their sole purpose was to be together – nothing more, nothing less. Already he was intoxicated with such an indulgence; it made him think of recreating their courtyard again, of sliding into her body during Scottish summers in Hogsmeade, and of her body in a dreamlike future, round with child and basking in the golden sun.

Severus swallowed and breathed out slowly.

He drew her closer to his body until her head rested over his heart. Her breath ghosted over his skin, and Severus closed his eyes again.

"I'm glad that we are here," he said into the night air. "I'm glad that _you_ are here."

Hermione sighed; he could hear the smile in it, the evidence of her joy. "I'm the luckiest woman in the world," she said simply, her tone brooking no argument. "This has been the best fortnight of my life. The very, very best."

Severus hummed pensively. "I can't say that it is mine," he began, "but it is certainly the _second_ best."

"Oh, you!" She pinched his side and wriggled, entwining her legs and arms around him until she could pull him over to the side where they faced each other on the pillows. "What could be better than our honeymoon? It's _perfect!_ "

He smiled and shrugged, pleased by just how much happiness he had given her by booking the trip. He hadn't specifically had a _honeymoon_ in mind – the very thought seemed trite, after all their tribulations – but a _reprieve,_ a private escape… She was making a good argument.

…

The tickets had been delivered to the castle two days after he'd sent that one letter from the cottage - one benefit of booking a Wizarding holiday. Severus was seated in the Great Hall, picking over breakfast while Poppy nattered on one side, and Pomona warbled along to Longbottom on the other.

The black owl was elegant and sophisticated – it soared above the main hoard that descended upon the students and staff with the morning mail, and delivered a bundle into his waiting hands with an imperious squawk.

"What is _that_?" Poppy hissed as she attempted to pull away his elbow that was doing its best to cover the details of the travel agent's name. "I know that stamp!"

"Hush, woman!"

"I won't!" A sharp jab to his side had him jump in his seat, and the devious nurse grabbed the bundle and squeaked. "Severus! You _didn't!_ "

"It's not for you, you idiot!" he exclaimed, off-kilter from the mortifying knowledge that the students had seen him fall prey to Poppy bloody Pomfrey's dubious techniques of persuasion. "Give it back!"

"I don't think I will!"

"I'll poison your tea!"

"Like hell you will!"

"You just watch—"

"Severus?"

 _Bollocks._

"Headmistress?" he fixed a bland expression on his face, and ground his teeth as the Headmistress paused in front of their seats before she descended and made for her office. She was staring at them both, her pursed lips twitching ever so slightly at the corners. When he saw the hesitant kindness in her eyes, Severus stood and glared at Poppy. "You will return it!" he ordered, allowing a short smirk to escape when the nurse clapped her hands and bustled away from the table.

"Did you wish to speak with me, Headmistress?"

She inclined her head and he came around the table to stand beside her, linking his hands behind his back as they walked down the middle of the hall.

"I did," Minerva said slowly when they reached the gargoyle. "Will you come up?"

He was being truthful, not spiteful, when he declined with, "Forgive me, Headmistress, but no. I do not have the time."

"Ah." Her shoulders drooped somewhat, and she cleared her throat. "Well, don't let me keep you."

"Of course," he said, bowing his head. Confused, Severus turned on his heel when her thin voice made him pause.

"I mean it, Severus," she said gently, her cheeks tinged with pink. "Don't let me keep you – from Madam Snape. There are things that I've said and—"

He interrupted her somberly, not having any desire to either reminisce over past hurts, or to continue wading through the boggy marshes of their strained relationship. Severus realised that he could have spurned her, but in that moment as he saw the wrinkles on her forehead deepen with concern, he could only think of one woman: Hermione.

"What's done is done, Minerva," he stated simply, and then held up a hand when she sighed. "And… I mean to take a holiday, of sorts. With my wife," he added, feeling awkward as a wobbly smile began to show on the Headmistress' face. "What I mean is that I will not be easily reached during the holidays and, erm…"

Taking pity on him, Minerva chuckled and reached out with one timid hand to pat his forearm. "I'll keep that in mind, Severus. And I hope that the _both_ of you enjoy it."

"As do I," he replied stiffly, bowing again. "Good day, Minerva." He strode away, then again turned when she called for him.

"We can talk upon your return," she said, though he could hear the question clearly. "If that is agreeable, of course."

Understanding that he was committing to another year of teaching, yet finding that he was more than amenable given his new living conditions and the favourable outlook for the tensions in the staff room, Severus nodded once. "We shall."

He turned swiftly, robes billowing as he made for the dungeons. Only the portraits saw the stern man smile.

…

Severus came upon Poppy later that afternoon, hosting Longbottom and Lavender for tea.

"Was I not invited?" he sneered as he scowled at the three, sitting around her desk in the Hospital wing.

"Your invitation is probably burnt to a crisp," Poppy said primly. "I sent it through the Floo ten minutes ago! You're late!"

Resisting the urge to retort 'Am not!', Severus grabbed the bundle of parchment that she waved in his face, and sat down. He returned Neville's greeting, sparing a moment to listen to the boy's latest update on his most recent visit to his parents, and then nodded to Lavender. Frank and Alice were still a ways away from being healed, and it was likely that they would never regain their full mental capacities. While Hermione had steadily made improvements with the various trials, the Longbottoms responses had been few and far between. They were still in the nominally better state as months ago – rather the same as Hermione had been.

"When is the next trial?" he asked, running an index finger around the rim of his already half empty cup. "Soon?"

Hermione had been researching late into the night, sometimes staying at the Hogwarts library until he had to resort to waving a bottle of wine in front of her in order to make her come home. She was no different than Severus – though his research was generally contained to the two free double periods he had each week. He fingered the parchment in his coat pocket, wondering if it wouldn't be better to just—

"Oh, no," Neville said quickly. "Not for another two months. There's still… erm… ah… There's a few… Righto, time to go. Bye, sir."

And with that, the Herbology Professor hurried out of the room. Severus tipped his head back and groaned.

"You told him!" Severus admonished the tittering nurse, sparing one glare for the younger witch whose cheeks were puffed from trying not to laugh. "And you told _her!_ "

"Of course I did! _You_ wouldn't have!"

Lavender let loose with a small shriek. "And I'm glad she did! Otherwise I might've thought you were in some sort of trouble – all right," she conceded when he scoffed, "although I would have at _least_ wondered where you went! We," she gestured between herself and the nurse, "need to know these things!"

Amused, Severus crossed his arms. "Why?"

"Aside from the obvious, being that we're not going to schedule any trials while you're _overseas_ ," Lavender responded tartly, "we're your _friends._ "

"You?" said Severus, cocking an eyebrow. "You and Longbottom?"

"And me!" Poppy vehemently interjected. "Get used to it!"

"Should I expect such an outburst each time I plan a short sojourn—"

"Oh!" Lavender exclaimed shrilly, tugging on Poppy's sleeve. Severus in turn covered his ears in an effort to lessen the noise. "Does that mean that you'll be taking holidays every _year_?"

"Christ," he complained, not at all sure of why he felt warm instead of his normal indignation. "Do I have to tell you both everything? Can't a man have secrets?"

"We're your friends," Poppy repeated. "You have friends. And we care about you. About you _both._ "

"Yes!" Lavender agreed with an important looking nod. "Exactly right."

Severus stared at the two women, taking in their smug smiles and honest, shining eyes. He barely spared a thought for the fact that ten years ago, this scenario would have sent him running for the hills. Instead he decided that perchance the whole idea was not so unpleasant – he'd already been close with Poppy, but expanding his tiny social circle didn't seem so terrible after all.

"Friends," he said, exhaling with a huff. "Fine."

"Good," said Lavender. "Then we'll see you when you get back?"

"You will," he drawled, curling his lip and turning away from them both so they wouldn't see how his mouth stretched into a smile of fondness for the two women that had kept him sane for three whole years.

…

In the cool bedroom of their Ubud villa, Hermione poked his side again.

"Tell me," she repeated laughingly, "about your best fortnight! How can anything be better?" She stretched out her body, her breasts pressing against his chest with the movement. Unable to ignore the tightening of her nipples, Severus stroked one finger across the soft mounds of golden flesh. He watched her bite her lip and utter a soft moan of pleasure; it was sublime, still, that he could induce such feelings within her.

"I think," he said, contemplating his answer and then finally deciding on the best way to frame it, "that my best fortnight would be the two weeks following your return."

"My return?"

"Your return to me," he said quietly, drawing breath when she smiled widely. She was beautiful in his arms, and even more so when he knew that all of her happiness, all of her delight, was for him to see and touch and taste. A heady combination.

Without preamble, she pressed her nose to his neck and sniffed deeply. He let out a startled laugh then stared down at her, puzzled. "What on earth are you doing?"

"You just—" She bent her head again, breathing in. "Oh, you just smell so _lovely._ Scrumptious. And all for me!"

"Amusing," he commented drily. "Our thoughts are quite similar at the moment."

" _Really?_ " Hermione questioned breathlessly, shaking her head. "I think I'll need years to acclimatise to such a notion… How is it, that after all this time, we're finally here together? Gosh, after mooning over you for so long…" She grimaced. "I must be dreaming. Pinch me."

"I certainly will not."

"Then you must tell me _why_ you chose our first weeks living together."

"Ah." Severus hummed thoughtfully. On one hand, it felt strange to be admitting so much to her after so many years of carefully monitoring his emotions and reactions. On the other, it was already freeing to love and be loved fully in return – for once, he had absolutely nothing to fear. He wound his arms around her tightly and said simply, "It was a coming of age. Everything I'd ever wanted, but hadn't ever had cause to even truly wish for. I never thought that I could ever be so fortunate, and yet… there you were, living with me, taking me out, always at my side. My only regret is…"

"Is?" she whispered, shuffling on the pillow so they were inches apart. She leant forward and placed a small kiss upon the tip of his nose.

"…That it took us so long to experience it," he mumbled, shrugging. "Grossly unfair, if you ask me."

"Good thing I didn't," she quipped. "You might've said 'life isn't fair' then, but I know that that's untrue – because I have _you_."

Severus groaned and reached for his wand, sending a spell to the ceiling fan to increase its speed. His wife, being the intrepid traveller that he found he enjoyed, preferred feeling the heat over cooling charms. He rolled out of bed, ignoring her mewls of disappointment, and stood before the double doors that led to the pool. Moonlight (and, he thought wryly, a couple of well-placed lights on the bottom of the pool) created a peaceful atmosphere. Water cascaded out of a statue near the far end of the pool, providing a calm background for his thoughts.

When the reflection in the glass doors showed his wife's tanned body coming to stand behind his own fair, bare flesh, Severus sighed. Her arms slid around his waist; her head of wild curls brushed the skin between his shoulder-blades.

"I _love_ it here," she said. "Not as much as I love you, but it comes very close. I don't want to leave. I want to stay here, in this bubble with you, forever."

"Not forever, sweetheart," he replied fondly, "for, as pleasant as I'm sure it would undoubtedly be, you would go mad. Although…"

"Oh," she breathed, bouncing around to stand in front of him, her hands now clutching at his own. "Tell me we can!"

"To be clear," Severus drawled, "we are speaking of extending our trip, yes?"

"Oh, yes, yes!" she exclaimed before she threw her head back and laughed. "Say that we will!"

He pretended to mull it over, though in truth, given the length of the summer holidays, there was no reason why they couldn't add on an extra fortnight or so. His heart thrummed at the prospect of it – like a hummingbird's wings, he was sure that he could take flight from it alone. He wanted nothing more – _nothing_ more – than to lose himself with her for as long as he could.

It wasn't that they were relatively anonymous here – there had been some surprised looks when they'd ventured into Kuta once last week – but it was… well, it was his _honeymoon._ And quite frankly, Severus would be damned if he let it end so quickly.

He trifled with the idea of playing along with her for a few minutes, but in the end all Severus could say was, "We will," while sporting a satisfied smirk.

Hermione's smile grew until her eyes began to swim with unshed tears. She opened her mouth once, twice, and then gave up, settling for throwing her arms around his neck and laughing until he was spinning them around the room, elated because of her glee.

"Oh!" she cried, waving a hand just as he turned to tap his wand on the small stacks of parchment that served as their main communication with the staff that serviced the villa.

"Hmm?"

"We should tell Poppy first! Or at least, we can't forget."

"Ah. Hmm, yes," he agreed, touching his wand to the parchment and nodding when it glowed green, accepting their request to extend. The nurse was staying in their cottage and minding the animals, while enjoying the kind of repose that only came from being the centre of Tink's fervent attention.

"I want to be the one to tell her," Hermione said suddenly, brandishing her wand with a triumphant smile. "My patronus has changed!"

The breath left him in an instant, and he sagged with relief. "Come here," he ordered, gathering her into his arms. "Mine, too."

"Really?" She chuckled and clucked her tongue. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Slightly flustered, he admitted, "I only tried it last week. I'd had some troubles before but…"

"But?"

"It seems it was due to the… memory that I'd been using previously." How he hadn't realised that before, Severus had no clue; he assumed it was due to how busy his days had been. Now it seemed glaringly obvious that he should've changed the memory from boarding the Hogwarts Express at age 11, to the first embrace with his healed wife, right from the very beginning.

"I see." Hermione drew back to look up into his eyes. Then, "Can I see it?"

"Impertinent woman," he named her, before he kissed her forehead. "Only if I may see yours, as well."

"Of course!" she said fervently. "I was going to show it to you, but I've found that you've had me somewhat distracted recently…"

His hands danced down over her breasts then snaked around to settle at her buttocks, tracing gentle circles on her skin. "As have you, wife," he said, his smirk widening to a grin. "Shall we cast separately, or together?"

She tilted her head and turned in his arms, her back to his stomach. "Your decision, love."

Severus already knew, without a doubt, what his answer would be.

"Together, wife," he said simply, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Together."

…

…

…

In a small spare room on the second floor of a quaint Hogsmeade cottage, Poppy Pomfrey jolted awake with a cry of surprise. She jumped out of bed, cursing when she hit her head on the too-low ceiling.

Two silvery shapes bathed the room in a bright light. The Hogwarts nurse narrowed her eyes and stared at the two, and then reached for her glasses.

"Well," she said, huffing. "They ought to have _told_ me about the new forms. Honestly!"

The graceful, prowling panther sniffed haughtily. At its side, a playful lynx seemed to smile in a matter-of-fact way, hinting at its female owner.

Poppy removed her glasses, gazed upon the panther once again, and clapped her hands with joy.

* * *

 _The end._


End file.
